


take this sinking boat and point it home

by like_a_wind



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angsty but hopeful, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, additional tags now that it's complete, end goal: healthy relationship representation, everybody lives au, flinthamilton mention, musician!flint, musician!silver, reviews say: it's refreshing, shifting pov, the once au that nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-28 09:22:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 51,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8440150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/like_a_wind/pseuds/like_a_wind
Summary: James is a musician. He has become disillusioned with his time spent playing his guitar on street corners, hoping for the spare change of strangers to make it into his case. Until one day a beguiling man takes special interest in his songs and worms his way into his life, changing it forever.-aka I was watching the movie Once and certain parallels in the character relationship dynamics wouldn't leave my brain and this happened. (You don't have to have seen the movie for this to make sense).





	1. say it to me now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bitter broken-hearted ginger who has basically given up on happiness meets a persistent stranger who talks too much and shows him that there is still hope. WHAT PLOT DID I JUST DESCRIBE. This is a silverflint Once AU.
> 
> The song in this chapter belongs to Glen Hansard. (Most of the songs in this fic belong to Glen Hansard).
> 
> Additional notes and links at the bottom. Definitely recommend listening to the songs in this story. They're all great, promise.

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter One: Say It To Me Now

 

It hadn’t been an exciting day. In fact John’s job was thankless and tedious at best. He knew, however, that he was better off than he had been a year ago, before moving to London - so he tried not to complain too much. A steady paycheck, no matter how modest, was nothing to complain about considering the things he had lived through. 

John was barely beginning his walk home that night - thinking that he needed to buy a new pair of headphones soon, having broken his weeks ago - when he was pulled out of his rumination by the sound of music being played nearby. It was real music. Raw and powerful. 

He rounded the corner, drawn to the sound. Standing there, lit only by a dimmed street lamp, a man with a beat up old guitar was playing and singing with a passion that John had never before witnessed - not from any professional musician he had ever seen, and certainly not from some street busker on a Thursday night in Greenwich.

He stood transfixed. The words of the song ringing through his head.

_‘Cause this is what you’ve waited for!_  
_A chance to even up the score!_  
_And as these shadows fall on me now,_  
_I will somehow…_

Even from a distance, the man looked every bit the struggling artist; with his untrimmed copper hair pulled pack into a small ponytail at the crown of his head, and scruff that hadn’t been visited by a razor in well over a week. His coat seemed to be of decent quality, though probably several years out of style. He wore a plain black scarf and nondescript fingerless gloves to warm his hands against the bitter November air. Even so, John marveled that he could move his fingers at all in this weather, let alone play as well as he did.

John moved closer in order to really take in the sight of him. The stranger didn’t see as John stopped in front of him, lost as he was in the song. He was a tall somewhat imposing man, with a fascinatingly intense brow that moved with emotion as he howled his song. It was hard to imagine a person could function with so much passion brimming out of his very being. John was completely and utterly enthralled.

_So if you have something to say,_  
_say it to me now, just say it to me now…_

The musician came to the end of his song with a sigh, his eyes still shut tight. John found himself clapping for the man before he even noticed that not a single other person had stopped for the scene. How could anybody simply walk by such a performance?

The man slowly looked up toward the source of the lonely applause with a slightly bewildered frown. The clapping didn’t last longer than a couple of seconds, but John lowered his hands, only slightly embarrassed at his own display of enthusiasm. He gave the man a small smile, and dug in his pocket for a loose coin to toss into the opened guitar case at the man’s feet. Fifty pence jingled into the case along with the rest of the man’s meager earnings from that evening.

The man gave the smallest of nods in acknowledgment, then bent down to start packing up his things without a word.

“Did you write that?” John asked, finally remembering that words were a thing.

“I did,” came the gruff response, without an upward glance.

“That was, that was really - good." He managed, failing miserably to come up with an adjective that came close to capturing the feeling that the song had engendered in him. "Who did you write that for?" He wasn't entirely sure what prompted the question, except that he had been left with a feeling - like he was missing out on some great history. 

The man paused for the briefest moment before standing up with his belongings. “I didn’t write it _for_ anyone. It’s just a song,” he said, shouldering past John to make his exit. “Likely the last I’ll write, for that matter,” he added almost as an afterthought, “Writing songs for vacant moonlit street corners has lost its appeal.”

“You can’t be serious,” John said more adamantly than he realized he felt. “Writing a song like that - the way you just played - you have a gift.” He fell into step with the musician, who then abruptly stopped walking when he realized he wasn’t getting away from this conversation so easily.

“A gift?” he scoffed with barely repressed annoyance. “A gift that’s worth a couple of coins a day. Less than a quid from a stranger here and there - on a good day?”

"Ah so you're only in it for gold and glory," He joked, choosing not to take offense at the pointed remark on his own humble donation. Receiving no reaction, John pressed on. “Listen, I’m saying this because, well, I’m a musician too. And I know, you simply don’t hear what you just did every day. That was truly exceptional. You’re saying you’re giving it up? That’s - that's unacceptable.”

The stranger seemed to look at him clearly for the first time, skepticism written into every line on his face. “I don’t know you, and you certainly don’t know me. One song. That’s all you heard. Maybe that’s all I have.” He paused just long enough for his expression to shift from vaguely intrigued to entirely exasperated - apparently at himself. “I don’t know why I’m entertaining this conversation, I have to go.”

He managed a few steps before the persistent little shit fell into step next to him again. “Okay, well if you’re giving up the music, what are you going to do instead? I’ll feel better if I know it’s something worthwhile.”

“I repair furniture, restore antiques. For a small shop.” He said with a sideways glance. The way he said it, he was probably hoping his answer would bore John into leaving him alone. He was sadly mistaken.

“You repair furniture?” John asked, excitement brimming all over again. “That’s very convenient! You see, I happen to have an old chair that’s been needing to be fixed for ages. I would just replace it but, well, it has some sentimental value.”

The man stopped at the corner, turning towards him with something verging on bemusement in his eyes. “So you want me to fix your chair? There are a hundred other people in this city who could do just as well, if not better, you know.”

“Are you saying that fixing other people’s old chairs isn’t your one true lifelong passion? That it wouldn't bring you the slightest satisfaction to fix this obnoxious strangers' most prized possession?” John asked with his brightest smile.

He earned the smallest half smile in return, “You might say that.”

John’s own smile grew wider, if such a thing was possible. He was surprised by how much he wanted to see this stranger break through that rough facade. A person who sang with so much passion couldn’t actually be as stiff as he had been acting since he stopped playing his music. He seemed to be two different men entirely - each immensely interesting in their own rights. “Here’s what I think. You'll be at this same place tomorrow, playing for pennies, as you say. And I’ll come back too. Same place. Same time. I’ll bring my poor broken chair, and you can give me an appraisal. No pressure. You won’t have completely given up your singing career by then, surely. Will you be here?”

A pause and another swift once-over with those calculating eyes. The stranger turned away with a brief “Possibly,” as he made to cross the street.

John smiled to himself as he started to turn back on his way. He made it one full step before turning back, “I’m John, by the way!” He shouted at the stranger’s retreating back. Walking backwards for a moment, he held out hope for a response.

“James,” was all the stranger said without slowing his stride. John couldn’t see the smile that accompanied this brief introduction, but it was certainly one that would have been worth seeing.

————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song James is playing under lamplight:  
> [Say It To Me Now by Glen Hansard ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtWiEm0n9lU)
> 
>  
> 
> Not going to lie - I am very new to this. Any comments would be very much appreciated! 
> 
> I already have the next couple of chapters mapped out and started, so it shouldn't be too long before they are posted. Not sure how many there will be, but probably no more than ten.


	2. falling slowly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second meeting is not as brief as the first - and it is definitely not as unwelcome. 
> 
> There's more music - there's some breaking down of emotional walls - there's a chair. 
> 
> This chapter is kind of fun, you guys!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to those who left kudos and comments on the first chapter! They definitely encouraged me to post again sooner! (@ Anola77 and thewalruscaptain - I don't know you, but I love you!)
> 
> And of course, links to songs and other relevant things can be found at the end.

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter 2: Falling Slowly

 

 _And in the morning, when you turn in_  
_I'll be out of reach_  
_And in the darkness, when you find this_  
_I'll be far to sea_  
_And you have broken me all the way down_  
_You'll be the last, you'll see_

It was colder than the night before. His fingers were numbing and fumbling on his guitar strings. James had just decided to make it an early night, when a battered old chair clunked down next to his case.

He looked up to find the grinning face of the curly-haired man he had spoken to the night before - he had half-believed that the man had the wisdom to realize that James wasn’t what you would call a “people person.” He thought that the man would have stayed away upon further contemplation on the previous night’s interaction. James hadn't been all too welcoming. Apparently this _John_ was something of an idiot.

“That has got to be the ugliest piece of junk I have ever seen. And that's saying something.”

“Sentimental value. Remember?” John’s smile refused to dim. His bright blue eyes sparkled mischievously in the lamp light. “I thought you said you were a one-song wonder. Didn’t sound like it just then. You're a two-song wonder, at the very least. I think perhaps you have a horde of gems hidden in that guitar.”

“No offense intended, but honestly that thing doesn’t look worth saving.” James said, evading the subject of his songwriting for as long as possible. He didn’t much like talking about his music with anyone - much less this baffling man he would barely consider an acquaintance.

The chair in question was really more of a stool. Squat and wide with a low back and a hideous, stained, floral upholstery on the cushion. The finish on the wooden legs was chipped and long out of fashion, if it had in fact ever been in fashion to begin with. It tilted heavily to one side, the front left leg visibly broken.

He looked back at the man in time to catch his obvious disappointment at the blunt appraisal.

“Listen,” he sighed, finding himself unable to deny the earnest hope he was so successfully crushing without thought, “I don’t have any tools on me. My workshop is just a couple blocks away. We can take a look at it there. No promises.”

The instantaneous brightening on the young face in front of him had the unexpected effect of giving James what he could only describe as _fucking butterflies in his stomach_. He rolled his eyes rather spectacularly at himself and set to packing up his things.

John waited patiently, straightening his beanie and tightening his scarf against the increasingly frigid wind. “Thank you, James,” he said almost as an afterthought.

It took James by surprise, he’d nearly forgotten that he had given this stranger his name, and he gave John a brief toothless smile in response.

As John lifted the battered chair, and James his case, they fell into step beside one another.

“So are you going to tell me that you wrote that last song for nobody in particular as well?” John asked giving him a sideways glance.

James caught the glance, holding it for the briefest moment before looking away with a weary huff. “You caught me. They were not in fact written for Nobody In Particular. In my experience, a song is always best when it's written for Somebody.” He wasn’t quite sure why he felt compelled to supply this strange man with anything remotely personal. It wasn’t his style.

“Of course they are! Those kinds of songs just don’t come from nothing," he followed this with a completely and utterly absurd question. "Did you love this Somebody?”

James marked him with an exasperated huff. Looking resolutely forward again, he heard himself saying, “Yes, I loved him,” his mouth betraying his better sense. He cursed at himself - what was happening - who was this man to him that he could worm his way into his head so easily - get him talking about things he usually kept bottled up inside so successfully?

“And where is he now? This great love that inspired such music?”

James tried not to notice the complete lack of a reaction that the revelation that his _great love_ was, in fact, a man had provoked. “Gone,” was all he could manage.

“Is he dead?” John’s genuine concern not dampening the bluntness of the question.

James rolled his eyes, “Jesus, no. Just gone. He’s moved on. Moved away. Gone.”

“You still love him I think.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t much matter now.”

“Where did he _go_ to?”

“Moved to the Bahamas, of all places - and I honestly don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. I don’t even know you.”

“It must just be my natural charm,” John grinned. “I’m a hard man not to like, you know.”

James favored him with a bemused smile. “We’re here.” He said stopping in front of a battered green door on the face of a small store front. The large window to the left of it had the words “Flint and Gates Antique Repair Shoppe” in beautiful, albeit chipped, painted calligraphy.

“So are you Flint or Gates?” John asked.

“Gates is my colleague,” he responded after a considered pause. He wasn't up for giving the full answer to the simple question at the moment.

“Well I'd say that’s good. James Gates doesn’t have the same ring to it.” He said as James keyed open the door to the shop. The “Closed” sign tapped pleasantly against the window on the door as it swung shut behind them.

“Hal Gates is my business partner here. In truth he manages more of the business, I take on more of the labor these days. I’ve grown weary of paperwork in my old age,” he grinned.

“So he has a sense of humor after all,” John smiled back. James wouldn't admit to himself how moved he was by the indulgence - his sense of humor wasn't what it used to be.

John set down his chair among the myriad cluttered pieces in the workspace. It looked rather sad, even surrounded by the other items in various states of disrepair. “Well old man, what’s to be done for the poor thing?”

“I’ll give it my fullest attention, with luck we may save its life, yet.” This comment merited him an actual laugh. James shed his coat and winter things so that he could better examine the chair, “You can set your jacket on that rack, if you like. Just there,” he gestured toward the opposite wall by the counter.

Still laughing softly at the small joke - honestly he was being too generous at the lame attempt at humor - John pulled off his gloves, followed by his hat. He shook out his curls, and James might have watched the display for longer than was strictly necessary. He was only human after all.

As John made his way across the room to the coat rack, his thrift store peacoat draped over his arm, he paused as something caught his eye. “And who is that beauty?” he asked transfixed. Sloppily, he placed his things on the rack - eyes were still drawn to the object of interest.

James looked up first at John, then followed his gaze, bewildered. His eyes landed on an old brown Yamaha piano set in the back corner of the shop.

“You play?” he suddenly remembered John mentioning that he was a musician the night before. He hadn’t bothered to follow up. James was becoming increasingly annoyed at his own abysmal socializing abilities.

“May I?” John asked, without taking his eyes away from the instrument. Honestly, it wasn’t that impressive of a piano in James’ opinion, which was of course what brought it into the shop in the first place.

“By all means,” James answered, intrigued.

He watched as John made his way to the instrument, and took the bench in front of it with something verging on reverence. He briefly tested out a couple of keys with a tuneless flourish.

Taking a deep breath, then letting it out - John let his fingers drift purposefully across the keys. From his position across the room, kneeling by John’s broken chair, James suddenly forgot how to breathe.  
  
The melody was haunting. It was slow, deceivingly complex in its simple beauty. He was enthralled. Without knowledge that he had even stood up, James found himself slowly walking to stand behind John as his fingers danced gracefully across the keys.

James took in every little thing in front of him. He observed the easy movements that John’s fingers made, effortlessly creating a dizzying cloud of rippling chords that surrounded his very being. He allowed his eyes to drift up to the man himself. A look of contentment which he hadn’t noticed was lacking from John's face throughout their brief interactions now softened his features. He had worn such a mask of affability that he hadn’t considered the depths of feeling that must have been trapped beneath. It was a sight that would have taken his breath away if he hadn’t stopped breathing a full minute before.

In an instant the tempo changed and James looked back to those gifted fingers. They sped across the ivory keys, passionately bringing the dreary space to life. A smile had crept onto John’s face as he played, and James felt a warm smile form on his own, usually dour features. It was an unfamiliar feeling, of late.

It was a crying shame that the only audience available to witness this recital were himself and the abandoned furnishings that littered the room. And yet, he felt privileged to be the one there to experience it.

Far too soon, John came to the end of his performance with a flourish, minor chords reverberating through the room. The space felt instantly bereft without the music. James slowly let out the breath he had been holding throughout.

James had thought he had seen every smile that John had to offer, but in that moment his face shone with a bright joy that he hadn’t yet experienced. He was resolved in that moment to discover every variable of smile he could induce from John.

“Did you write that?” he asked, stupidly.

Brought back to the space he inhabited, John laughed lightly and looked up at James. “No. No, that would be Rachmaninoff. The man was a genius. It’s the Barcarolle.”

James thought John might be the actual genius, he was certain that this Rachman-whatever hadn’t ever played it quite like that. “Where did you learn to play like that?”

John smiled to himself, reflecting on a memory that James suddenly was itching to be let in on. He saw the moment that John decided on how to answer.

Finally he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “I grew up in the foster system. Lived that life for as long as I can remember. I never had any family to speak of. I never knew my father - I'm not certain my mother really did either - but she died long before I ever had a chance to ask. It was a lonely childhood. I might sometimes be living with five other kids in the system - but I didn't connect with people. I wasn’t the most pleasant of kids to be around. Bit of a temper, if you can imagine.

"But for a brief time, when I was about ten, I lived with a kind woman. She was a music instructor. She had a piano not unlike this one. Remarkably like this one, actually. She tried to teach all of her kids about music, hoping it would help them - us - to find a healthy outlet for our - energy.” - another small smile - “I was the lucky kid that it actually worked on. After a couple of frustrating first attempts, I was surprised to find that it calmed me. To her credit, she recognized me for the eager student I was becoming, and spent as much time as she could spare in teaching me. And I in turn spent every moment possible practicing and learning and absorbing all that I could. Admittedly, it didn’t cure the mood swings or the depression that such a sad, lonely existence can illicit. It certainly didn’t stop me from fighting with the other kids when provoked. But that piano was a lifeline to reach out to when things started to become overwhelming.

“I lived with her for less than two years. She died suddenly, having been in poor health the whole time - though I didn’t know. I was moved to a new, far less appealing home, with my few possessions. The only thing I took of hers was the small bench which I had spent so many hours on by the piano. Sentimental value, you see?” He ended softly. 

John had relayed these events without an ounce of self-pity. James was at a loss for words.

“Anyway,” John continued in a more animated manner, after the silence lasted just a bit longer than was comfortable, “I did my best to practice where and when I could after that. But I’ve never quite been in a place to buy a piano of my own. So, I played a bit in school, I visited music stores, wherever they'd let me really - even considered studying music at University. But that, well that’s a whole other story.”

“You have a gift,” James finally managed. He belatedly realized that he was simply repeating John’s previous words back to him. Words he had scoffed at, asshole that he was.

John offered a small laugh and a humble, “Thank you.”

“Do you write anything yourself?”

“I’ve given it a shot, but I’ve never managed anything near as brilliant as what you've done. I guess I do better interpreting the greats.” He smiled a smile that James feared he was becoming too dependent upon. “Perhaps someday I’ll be interpreting _your_ great songs.”

A gruff laugh from James, “I wouldn’t hold out hope.”

“Have you been working on anything _great_ lately?”

James considered. There was in fact a song he had been working on. The melody had come to him over the past week or so, but the words were only finished the previous night. He hadn't even sang it at full volume yet himself.

“I don’t know about great, but there is this one that I think might actually be quite good.” The next thing he knew he was asking John something he hadn’t asked of anybody in ages, “I’d be happy to play it, but only if you’d be willing to play along?”

  He was rewarded with another bright smile from John, then cheerfully, “I’m fairly certain that I’d like nothing better in the world, at this moment.”

“Right, grand, give me a moment.” He stammered. James headed for his abandoned guitar case, John tracked his movements. He pulled out his battered guitar, then dug through one of the pockets to pull out a bent and misshapen notebook.

“I’ve got the words written out here - it’s a work in progress - but - well - it’s in the key of C - I’d wager you’ll follow along just fine.” He stammered on a bit more, explaining the chord changes, fumbling over his explanations. Finally John took pity on him.

“I think I’ve got a pretty good idea. If you lead, I think I can manage to keep up.”

“Okay. ready…” His guitar strings strummed the first couple of notes alone, before John joined in on the keys. He began a little timidly, but James gave him an encouraging smile, and John continued on with more confidence. This new addition was welcoming, and quite honestly, already a noticeable improvement on his melody. James began to sing.

 _I don’t know you, but I want you, all the more for that._  
_Words flow through me, always fool me, and I can’t react._

John growing more comfortable with the melody, found his place in the notebook and began to sing along with a subtle harmony. John's sweet voice was a stunning compliment to James' more gravely cadence.

 _And games that never amount to more than they’re meant_  
_will play themselves out._

James signaled for the shift to the chorus, and John followed suit - the tempo quickened - the music built toward a crescendo.

 _Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We’ve still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_  
_You’ll make it now._

James wouldn’t call himself a humble man; certainly not when it came to his music. He knew that what he wrote had substance. It was just that the rest of the world hadn’t taken notice. There was a time when he thought Thomas was the answer. He gave him hope that his music could make a difference in this world. But when Thomas left, so did much of the joy he had once found in music. He had written those songs with and for his lost loves. It could never be what it was.

Now, for the first time since those idyllic days, he remembered why he had fallen in love with music. As this enigma of a man next to him seemed to effortlessly grasp every intricacy of the song that James had written, adding a beauty he hadn’t realized it lacked, James was overwhelmed with emotion.

 _Falling slowly, eyes that know me_  
_And I can’t go back_  
_Moods that take me and erase me_  
_And I’m painted black_

Their eyes met for the briefest moment, both men flushed with the exhilaration of playing.

 _You have suffered enough and warred with yourself_  
_It’s time that you won._

Hearing the words sung in John’s tenor caught James completely off guard, new as they were even to himself. He had to close his eyes and give himself completely over to the song in order to continue.

 _Take this sinking boat and point it home_  
_We’ve still got time_  
_Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice_  
_You’ll make it now_

The music continued on for a few more measures, surging on in intensity. James was not even completely aware of the few wordless howls that had escaped him. Coming back to himself, he signaled for the closing movement which slowed to the same sweeter melody they had started on. With the final chord still hanging in the air, both men sought the others’ eyes. Silence filled the room.

“Well. Shit.” John managed.

“Shit.” James agreed, with a short laugh.

They shared a smile; a simple acknowledgement that they had just found something rare.

“Fancy a cup of tea?” James finally asked.

“I’m fairly certain I’d like nothing better in the world, at this moment.”

\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song James is singing at the start:  
> [All The Way Down by Glen Hansard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feyy2useLfY)
> 
> The piano tune Silver plays in the shop (It sounds like water, which is why I chose it for the pirate babes. Also it's gorgeous):  
> [Barcarolle Op. 10, No. 3 in G-Minor by Rachmaninoff ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OcdQvEJIs28)
> 
> The song James and John play together:  
> [Falling Slowly by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FkFB8f8bzbY)  
> (BUT ALSO, [ here's a fun version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9vXGk-I0a3M) where Glen sings with Eddie Vedder. You know, in case you're looking for a man-on-man version! Although I do not picture John as having Vedder's voice, I love that he's the one that sings the "warred with yourself" line which is basically the entire reason I wrote this fic).
> 
> And this is the general idea of what [John's chair ](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/ike_a_wind/media/stool-asow_zpsetj4ggih.jpg.html?filters%5Buser%5D=145813101&filters%5Brecent%5D=1&sort=1&o=0)looks like, if you need a visual. (But obviously more broken and whatnot). 
> 
> I probably spend too much time describing smiles :)
> 
> So the plan is that with every chapter it will become a little more original, and a little less of a Once rip-off.


	3. on the level

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say hello to the Flint backstory.
> 
> Also: the first appearance of some of our supporting characters!
> 
> This one has some Angst. It's necessary to make the future fluff that much better!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for reading! 
> 
> There's not so much music stuff in this chapter - but of course any links are at the end.

John was led to a doorway at the back of the shop, and up a set of stairs. As it turned out, James lived in the flat above the shop. John’s head was still spinning with the exhilaration of playing that song. Although this delightfully puzzling new person in his life might have been a factor too. He stepped into the flat and found himself in a well lit combination kitchen-dining-living area.

There was a heavily tattooed, somewhat round, bald man sitting at the dining table. He was pouring over some paperwork - without looking up said, "You know you’ll freeze to death one of these nights. They won’t be able to pry that guitar from your frozen fingers. We’ll just have to bury you with it, I suppose.”

“I appreciate your concern, Hal” James said by way of greeting. “This is my - friend - John. That there is the paperwork half of this partnership, Hal.”

Hal looked up for the first time. He appeared to be rather surprised by both the unexpected presence of a stranger in his home, and again by the news that James had a _friend_. He dropped his pencil and took off his glasses to offer John a winning smile. “Well this is an unsurpassed pleasure. I was unaware that James had any friends save myself.”

James had made his way over to the stove to heat the kettle. John offered his own winningest smile, “Well then, I’m honored to bear the distinction of being James’ second friend. It would seem this club is in good company, nice to meet you.”

“I’ve offered to fix a chair for him.” James said, his back turned, digging through a cabinet in search of tea.

“Is that so?” Hal asked still smiling.

“It was a very kind offer. It seems we are privileged to be friends with a real gentleman,” John said.

He was immensely fascinated by the entire interaction. The guarded and stern man he was getting to know, was now acting - was _bashful_ the right word? John and Hal fell into easy conversation, as James prepared the tea. John glanced in James’ direction from time to time. He was amused by the brusque ginger man’s acute awareness of the conversation happening behind him. Although his old friend and this new friend spoke about him with thinly veiled teasing, he refrained from joining in.

Hal was just entertaining John with a tale of a horrendous customer interaction that James had mucked up beyond redemption - both laughing with abandon - when James finally interrupted. “If you two are quite finished, we’ll leave you to your work, Hal.”

“Oh please do, I long to return to the tedium of receipts and invoices.” Hal sighed, still laughing. John gave him a warm smile, and excused himself to follow James.

———

James led John down a narrow hallway and into a cluttered bedroom. Well, cluttered wasn’t quite the word for it. There was definitely organization to it. It seemed there was simply not enough room to store the contents in the modest space. Most of the shelves and boxes were filled with books and records.

It was not lost on John that he had just been led into the bedroom of a man he had only just met. He took a seat by the small desk, placing his mug carefully on top of a small pile of books, for want of an open space on the desk’s surface.

“This is a temporary living arrangement.” James said, watching as John took in the room.

“I like it.” John assured. “Not to state the obvious, but you have quite a lot of books.”

“I enjoy reading,” he replied rather lamely.

John found it incredibly endearing. He picked up his mug, just as much to take a drink as to warm his hands. He noticed the tome that his tea had been resting on, and picked up to better read the spine. “Marcus Aurelius? Isn't that a dense book. You've read this?” he asked smiling.

James didn’t quite meet his eyes, “More than once, actually.” He took a step across the small space and gently took the book from John’s hand, flipping open to the first page as he made his way back to his bedside. He reverently placed the book onto the bedside table - the only clear counter in the room. John silently took in these actions as he sipped his tea.

“I only moved in here with Hal about a year ago.” James said as he took a seat on the edge of his bed. “I was in a bad place when Thomas left. I wasn’t in a state to be living on my own. Hal has been a great help. But I’m hoping to be moving on before too long.”

“Hal seems like a good man.” John hesitated for a moment. “Thomas. That was his name? The man from the songs?”

James twitched slightly, seeming to only just register that he had slipped up and given a name to the mystery. He said nothing.

“Will you tell me what happened?” John asked gently.

James seemed to consider for a moment. John gave him time to collect his thoughts. “The story is - complicated - there was a lot of history.” He glanced up to meet John’s eyes. He managed to hold the look for a moment longer. John gave him a small encouraging smile.

It had the desired effect. James sighed, apparently deciding that he had nothing to lose by the telling - John was practically a stranger after all. After taking a small steadying breath, he began, “To start with, I may have misled you by saying that I loved only ‘him.’ It’s more complex than that. In fact I loved _them_. Thomas. And his wife. Miranda.” He paused then, taking in John’s reaction. John’s face betrayed nothing beyond genuine interest. James continued. “Thomas and Miranda were both in politics - Miranda was a solicitor who specialized in political cases. Thomas - was a member of the House of Lords.” A small melancholy smile played on his features.

“I suppose the true start of this story, however, is when Thomas first came to the shop. He had undertaken the responsibility of seeing some of his family’s heirlooms restored. They had been badly damaged in a flood. He asked if I would be willing to visit his home and appraise the items in person. There was a grandfather clock that had been in the family for over two-hundred and fifty years that was of particular concern.” He paused as if in a reverie.

“It quickly became a particular fascination for me. Working on the Hamilton family’s priceless antiquities was suddenly the main focus of my career. It wasn’t that I found the items themselves so interesting - but being in that house with the pair of them - it was an intoxicating atmosphere. The conversation flowed effortlessly. Their ideas about the future of England were fascinating - if a bit more optimistic than my own outlook. I spent many days in that house, and it didn’t take long for a true friendship to develop between myself and the Hamiltons.

“It was easy, really. Easier than I ever could have imagined falling in love could be. It was exhilarating to be in their company. Thomas was passionate and so very intelligent. Miranda was fierce - she had the brightest fire in her - I have never seen it matched. They were open, they invited me into their lives as if I had been there all along. Soon I found myself spending most days in their company. I can’t really explain it, but I can assure you that we were happy - the three of us. The time spent reading, or playing music by the fire on rainy days was no less precious than that spent traveling and going on adventures. There was camaraderie - respect - love - it was a heavenly bubble of bliss. It was untenable, and the world was bound to see it ruined.

“We didn’t keep our relationship secret, exactly. But we certainly didn’t advertise ourselves. Most of our friends and family were aware - and some even supportive. But the truth is that people at large are made uncomfortable by anybody who finds happiness in an unconventional manner. Eventually there were whispers amongst Thomas’ colleagues. Veiled threats that if he didn’t lean certain ways politically, they would use his proclivities against him. Thomas was strong - far stronger than me. He never felt shame. If ever I began to question that the life we were living was something that could not be maintained, he always reassured me that I deserved to be happy - and fuck what the neighbors thought. He believed that we three would persevere.

“Miranda was the pragmatist. She saw when the cracks began to form. She recognized the whispers for what they were. She warned us that if we weren’t more careful, people would use our love against us. But we were too caught up in our own bliss to take credence. We were rather foolishly blindsided in the end - Thomas and myself. A group of his colleagues who took issue with some of Thomas’ more liberally progressive positions tried to use the - affair - to blackmail him. Now of course, the world of politics has no shortage of scandal, and Thomas attempted to call their bluff, he told them he was not ashamed. But it was more than that. They knew that Thomas had a gentleness about him. Yes, he was passionate - but he was - in truth - something of a pacifist. They took advantage.

"One man took it past blackmail, when he caught on that Thomas wouldn’t be so easily swayed. He threatened him with violence. And eventually, to put it plainly, he had him attacked. Made it look like a random mugging - but by then we saw it plainly for what it was. The men who attacked him made it clear that they had no qualms about going after his wife if necessary. It was hateful.” John took in the manner in which James had detailed these events. At first he seemed to be replaying the story in a clinically detached sort of way, consciously disconnecting, as if it had happened somebody else. But it couldn’t hold. As he went on, the never-forgotten anger bubbled to the surface, emotion laced into every word.

“I could not control my rage. When I saw the bruises on Thomas’ body - when I heard the details of what had transpired - everything went red. I’ve never been gifted with an even temper. When provoked, I can become something even I don’t recognize. I knew the man who was behind the attack. Thomas and Miranda tried to stop me - but I was enraged, inconsolable. There has never been a kinder, more generous man than Thomas - he didn’t deserve what happened to him." He took one more steadying breath before continuing, "So I found the man at his home. Quite literally broke down the door. I'll spare you the gory details - but it was a savage sight. I couldn't have held back if I had wanted to - might have killed him given the chance- but his young daughter entered the room - I saw the fear in her eyes. I had a sudden clear vision of the scene through her eyes - saw what I must have looked like covered in her father's blood. I tore myself away from the wretched place - but the damage was done. The man ended up in the hospital with very severe injuries. He wanted to press charges. There was no way to prove in a court of law that he was behind what had happened to Thomas. Unfortunately, it would be all too easy to incriminate me in my own misdeeds. I wasn’t thinking of being careful at the time.

“Miranda, consistently the one who had her right mind about her, worked out the only solution that presented itself. The honorable _Lord Ashe_ ” he said the name with acerbity, “agreed to drop the charges against me. But only if Thomas stepped down. As it happened, Miranda had been offered a prominent position abroad - the only good thing luck had graced them with in that time. They were obliged to accept. Thomas sacrificed his promising career to keep a brute like me out of prison. I argued - told him it was what I deserved - but he wouldn’t hear it. He offered his resignation before I could take any action of my own. They were to leave a month later for the Bahamas, where Miranda would begin her new career. After what I had done - it seemed clear to me that it was in everyone’s best interest if I were to disconnect myself from their lives entirely. They fought it, of course. They insisted that there was no need for a complete severance. But it was inevitable. We were foolish to think it could last.

“It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. It broke me. It hardened me. I was in a very dark place. To have experienced that level of joy and contentment and then to have it ripped away - not only because of other people’s hatred - as I would like to think - but also because of your own weakness— it’s a beastly thing.”

John had listened silently. He found that he was overcome with an urge to reach out to James, to take his hand, to do something, anything to offer comfort. He had to settle for words. “I don’t know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, these are the events as they occurred" James said wearily.

"I am genuinely sorry," he sad with complete sincerity. 

James held his gaze, something like confusion furrowed his brows, “You sit there so calmly after hearing that I nearly beat a man to death in his own home?” It was a challenge. He was testing John. Pushing him to see if he would leave - if John had fully realized the extent of the darkness inside of him.

“You don’t hold a monopoly on anger. I may seem charming and innocent to you today, but I’ve had my dark days too. No," he paused choosing his next words carefully,  "What I found most compelling about your story - is that you have a deep, hidden well of empathy. I don’t think you like for people to know that about you. I think you wear this mask of hardness to keep people from ever even wondering if there’s somebody worth knowing underneath. But to those you let in, they are rewarded for the knowing.”

It was James who was at a loss for words now. After the silence stretched on just a little past what was comfortable, John shifted the focus to something they both could find comfort in. “Of course anyone who has heard you play your music would know that you are more than you appear. We hadn’t spoken a single word to each other when I realized that I wanted to know you.”

“Well, you caught me on a good day.” James said with a sad smile, though apparently eager to assist in lightening the mood. “I don’t often invite strangers off the street back to my home.”

“Pleased to be the exception,” and little by little the tension began to roll off James' shoulders.

Their eyes lingered on the others' for a moment - an acknowledgment of the understanding they had come to. John wished only to ease James' sorrow, and he took it upon himself to move the conversation fully to the subject of music. Nobody would benefit by lingering on such sorrowful histories all night.

“James, might I ask, have you ever thought about trying to make a go at making music a full time gig?”

James blinked at the shift in conversation. Coming back fully to the present, he said, “I’ve recorded some things here and there. Nothing near professional quality. But I’ve got some very low-fi recordings. I’ve only ever given them to friends.”

“Have you?” John asked delightedly. “And am I yet considered a good enough friend to be let in on such a gift?”

James chuckled lightly, “I warn you they are very rough cuts. But I think I have some CDs in one of these boxes that I could part with.”

They both rose as James began his search. John scanned the bookshelf, until James soon found a small collection of unlabeled CDs in plain jewel cases.

“You know, I’m beginning to think you might already be my biggest fan,” he joked. “Excluding Hal, perhaps. But he’s family.”

As he handed one of the cds over, John’s fingers might have lingered on James’ a bit longer than was necessary in the transfer. He averted his eyes, feeling suddenly shy. “Thank you. Although, I do hope my enthusiasm isn’t going to your head. I don’t know what I’d do if you started to believe you were as great as I’ve claimed. What role would I play in the relationship, then?”

As he looked back up he caught James with an expression that was hard to interpret. He thought it might be wonder, though he couldn’t imagine what had brought on that reaction. They were standing very close together by this point. James had let his eyes wander down to John’s mouth. John stood frozen, his breath caught in his chest - until James started to lean in closer.

Suddenly John was moving swiftly away - he stopped short near the doorway, collecting himself. It all happened very quickly, and John turned around again in time to catch James’ face registering what had just occurred. The last thing he had meant to do was offend James, and he certainly was interested. But he just wasn’t ready. James had just opened himself up to him, yet he couldn’t find the strength to give himself over. He mentally cursed furiously at himself.

He saw as James came back to himself - “I’m sorry,” James said slowly, “I’m sorry - I didn’t mean -“ he looked slightly horrified - and John's heart tightened at the sight. 

“No - it’s okay,” John said with the most reassuring smile he could muster. “Really it is. I’m just - I’m not there yet.”

“I’m sorry” they said in unison.

John was kicking himself for closing off like that - he had moved without thought - a stubborn reflex brought on by his own insecurities. “Listen - I really - this isn’t because of you - it’s just - I should probably get going. It’s getting late.” He bit his tongue - that hadn't been what he wanted to say. 

“Of course,” James said, not meeting his eyes.

“James.” John took a step toward him, waiting for those brilliant green eyes to make up their mind and find his again. Eventually he was rewarded. “I should probably give you my number.”

James furrowed his brow in confusion - it was equal parts heartbreaking and beautiful. “You’ll need it, so that you can let me know about the chair - what’s to be done with it.” He tried at a small smile.

“Of course,” James said again, not moving. John wasn’t entirely sure that James remembered what a chair was in that moment.

John gave a small exasperated sigh, and picked up James’ mobile from where he had left it on the bed. He dialed his number into James' phone. When he felt his own phone vibrating in his pocket, he hung up. “There, now I have yours too. This way I’ll have a way to let you know if your hit record lives up to expectations.”

James seemed to be slowly thawing out. “Of course,” he said once more, though this time he managed to say it with something that might have passed for a small smile. The corner of his mouth had given the slightest twitch, at the very least, and John took it as a promising sign.

John felt the corners of his own mouth raise slightly, “Goodnight, James. I’ll talk to you soon.”

—————

Hal was still sitting in the main living area, though he had moved on to reading a novel - receipts and invoices forgotten for the night. He had a record playing at low volume.  John recognized the gravelly talk-singing of Leonard Cohen, though he couldn’t place the song.

“It was nice to meet you, Hal” he said, slowing his gait.

Hal was brought out of his focus. He looked up - quickly and silently marking James’ blatant absence from the scene. He favored John with that winning smile just the same. “I hope we’ll be seeing more of you around here, John. It will be a joy having a new member of the James McGraw Friendship Club to keep me company.”

“I hope so, too." He said with complete sincerity.  "Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Cohen’s words followed him to the door:

 _They ought to give my heart a medal_  
_For letting go of you_  
_When I turned my back on the devil_  
_Turned my back on the angel too_

John made his way out of the small flat, down the stairs, (only stopping long enough to grab his hat, scarf, and coat - but not to put them on) then through the shop doors. He cursed under his breath the whole way - he could be such a _fucking_ idiot when he set his mind to it. It wasn’t until he pulled the door closed behind him - and saw the shop's painted name once more - that it registered what Hal had said. He had referred to their mutual friend as James _McGraw_ and not as James _Flint_.

Another tale for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this chapter was not that fun to write! I struggled with the best way to work Thomas and Miranda into the narrative. I only knew two things for sure when I started this fic: they were NOT going to be dead and they were NOT going to be written in any kind of negative light (like the ex in Once). Also - I don't know all that much about how British Parliament works, so I kept all of that stuff intentionally vague, lol. If I got it wrong - just pretend it's right. Anyway, hopefully it reads easier than it wrote! 
> 
> I did, however, have some fun thinking about what kind of music a modern day Hal Gates would listen to! I decided on Leonard Cohen for a chill night in - but I think he gets down with some old school punk, too - like The Ramones, The Cure or The Replacements. 
> 
> the song Hal is playing when John leaves:  
> [On The Level by Leonard Cohen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0uq5cgd2So)  
> (I didn't even have this song in mind when I wrote the bulk of the chapter - but the lyrics fit PERFECTLY with Flint's story. And I like the piano part a lot - very appropriate for John's exit).
> 
> BTW - if anybody has any silverflint songs (especially ones that fit this story) I would love to hear what they are! There might even be room to fit them into the story somewhere!


	4. leaving the table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James is left reeling after his last encounter with John. 
> 
> Some continued angst to start, but then we start to get to some fun stuff :) :) :)

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Four: Leaving The Table

 

A week, a month, a year might have passed before James finally moved. In reality it was no more than one full minute. He hadn’t realized he had been listening for it, but when the sound of the flat's door closing reached him, he finally allowed himself to let out a staggering breath.

What the hell had he been thinking? He could measure the time he knew this man in hours, why did he so easily give in to his self-destructive tendencies - _why_ had he tried to _kiss_ him? He had finally met somebody interesting - somebody who wasn’t scared away by his abrasive demeanor. He had even accepted his dark story with something like an easy optimism. And James had idiotically read too much into John's easy and open countenance. He had no interest in James as anything more than a somewhat intriguing musician.

James turned to his window, and looked out at the street below. It was full dark, but he easily made out John’s telltale gait at the end of the block. He watched until John finally turned the corner - effectively fleeing the scene.

He closed his eyes, and leaned his forehead against the cold windowpane, letting the sensation cool his flushed face as he let out one more shaky breath.

Suddenly it occurred to him - the shop door would have been left unlocked upon John’s departure. He considered leaving it - if this was the night some thief decided to make a visit, so be it. Imprisoning himself in the confines of the bedroom for the foreseeable future was at the top of his priority list.

He shook it off. No. He wouldn’t let some fumble with a man he barely knew effect him this way. Slowly turning to make his way downstairs, a new, terrible, thought occurred to him.

“Shit” he let out under his breath. He’d probably have to talk to Hal about this.

Pulling on his metaphorical armor, James braved the outside world.

———

“It seems you've had an eventful night,” Hal said the moment James entered the room. “At least by your recent standards.”

“Is that how it seems?” James asked sardonically.

_I don’t need a reason for what I became_  
_I’ve got these excuses, they’re tired and lame_  
_I don’t need a pardon, no, no, no, no_  
_There’s no one left to blame_

Hal was listening to the new Leonard Cohen record again. The melancholy music matched his mood just fine.

“Well, you’re not usually the type to let your guests see themselves out - gentleman that you are.”

“How would you know how I usually treat my guests? As you pointed out earlier, I haven’t any friends save you.”

“I apologize," though he looked anything but apologetic, "I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your new friend.”

  “No worries, Hal.” To this point their back-and-forth had been layered in a light-hearted teasing, but James found it a weary game to maintain. “I managed that just fine on my own.”

Hal took note of his friend’s shift in demeanor, the smile in his eyes softening. “I won’t pry. But you should know - the man who left this place not ten minutes ago did not give the impression that he wanted to sever whatever ties brought him here tonight.”

As always, Hal betrayed an understanding of the situation beyond the evidence that had been presented to him. Of course, he had known James most of his life - reading each other had long ago become second nature. James was thankful that he need not elaborate on the night’s events - nearly as thankful as he was for Hal’s encouraging words.

James gave Hal a small nod in acknowledgement, not able to verbalize his feelings. 

“I should lock up.”

———

When James entered the workspace, he found his feet moving him toward the old Yamaha piano of their own accord. He stopped, resting one hand on the instrument. He had a flash- a fleeting image of John’s fingers moving deftly over the keys. He blinked away the memory - not to forget - simply to revisit when it wasn’t quite so fresh and full of feeling.

He let his own fingers dance experimentally across some of the high notes - a nameless melody - brief and somehow sad. James had never mastered the instrument himself - he was far more comfortable with the feel of steel strings vibrating beneath his calloused fingertips.

He shook his head at himself - so sentimental these past few days.

Finally, he made his way to the lock, feeling some small satisfaction in hearing the solid click.

Turning, James leaned his back against the door. His eyes fell once more on John's small, battered chair. This thing that had seemed so hopeless to him when he first laid eyes on it seemed suddenly to be full of potential.

It occurred to him that he wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon - and he certainly didn’t have the attention span to spare on reading a novel tonight. Making up his mind he lifted the chair with something verging on reverence - placed it on the workbench - and set to work.

———

It was nearly two in the morning by the time James finally set aside his tools and made his way back upstairs.

Hal had surely been asleep for hours by this point - the flat was silent.

Weary to the bone, James finally set to readying for sleep. He loosed his hair from its small ponytail, and felt a lingering tension leave his body.

Sighing the remains of the day away, he sat on the bed. His phone was resting there next to his pillow. He had completely forgotten about it. John had replaced it on the bed after he’d finished with it. There were two messages blinking up at him - time stamped at 23:56.

  
> I’m particularly fond of track 8  
> Didn’t realize you had it in you to be whimsical ;)

_A winky face?_ Had a full grown man just sent him a text with a fucking _winky face_? He let out a soft, surprised laugh.

James couldn’t say he understood at all what was going on in this situation. In fact, he was at a complete loss. John was some years younger than him - presumably more well versed in the intricacies of flirting via text. Was it automatically a flirt when a wink was involved?

He genuinely did not know how to respond. Should he apologize again? He was pretty sure he had said the word "sorry" at least ten times before John had finally left. 

He thought back on those last moments. He had been in a fugue state of sorts, unable to fully process what was happening. And he had resolutely not thought about it as he worked downstairs, choosing to focus his mind and energy solely on the task at hand. Now he brought the memory to the front of his mind.  He reflected that John had tried his best to diffuse the tension before he left. With this odd text he seemed to be continuing on in that vein now. Taking his cue, James finally settled on something simple.

> I have my moments.

As an afterthought he added,

> ;)

He instantly regretted it.

Who did he think he was? What message did a winky face sent at 2:00 in the morning send? _Fuck_.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it now.

James took a moment to save the new number into his contacts, finding an odd satisfaction out of typing the four letters J-o-h-n into the device. He set the phone to charge on his bedside table, and fell into a deep sleep before he ever had time to worry about what kind of response he might get.

  
———

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOL @ the concept of James Flint trying to flirt!
> 
> The song Hal is listening to:  
> [ Leaving the Table by Leonard Cohen ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vbjRTN3-jCg)  
> (I basically only used this song because it’s the actual next track on the record from the previous chapter. BUT the [ lyrics](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/leonardcohen/leavingthetable.html) happen to work perfectly for a sad retired!flint song! Which is pretty fitting in the moment. A happy (but also sad) accident.)
> 
> The whimsical song John texts James about:  
> [ Fallen From the Sky by Glen Hansard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YvD1PPILUys)  
> (it's also track 8 on the Once soundtrack - this song will make another appearance)
> 
> ****So I was literally MINUTES away from posting this chapter when I saw the news that Leonard Cohen has passed away. I am so completely saddened by this. I contemplated editing the chapter itself because of it, but ultimately decided to keep it as is. This is an everybody lives fic after all. Anyway, it feels weird to dedicate a fic to a legendary musician - but yeah this chapter is dedicated to Leonard Cohen. Rest Easy <3


	5. fallen from the sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes some plans ;)
> 
> In which I bring a bunch of our favorite minor characters back from the dead.

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter 5: Fallen From the Sky

 

John jerked awake as the sunlight peaked through his window and creeped over his face. He had won first choice of bedroom in a game of cards with his flatmates. Every morning he wished he had thought to pick the one with the west facing window. He was definitely, absolutely, emphatically _not_ a morning person.

He groaned and stretched out his weary limbs. As the groan shifted into a yawn, he grabbed his phone to check the time. There were three messages waiting for him.

The first was from Muldoon,

> Don’t forget u said you’d come out 2 the gig. Its a big one. I’m holdin u 2 it this time Silver!

John only vaguely registered these words, as he was much more interested in the remaining texts. He read James’ message over a couple of times, softly laughing to himself.

John had taken a calculated risk in his own lighthearted message the night before. After the way they had left things, he decided it was necessary to keep things light - which somehow presented itself in a damn winky face. When he had gone to sleep nearly an hour later with no response, he had hoped that James had simply fallen asleep, though he feared he may have read the text and resolved to never speak to John again.

This was definitely not what he had expected. He could visualize so clearly James sitting in that book-ridden room, back stiff straight, trying to decipher just what the “wink” had meant. Had he spent those two hours simply trying to decide how to respond? Had he felt just as foolish for sending a fucking “wink” to a full-grown man?

Collecting himself, he sat up, no longer quite so angry at the sun. All the same, it was not even 9:00am yet - he wasn’t even considering replying to anyone without a large cup of coffee first.

———

It was drafty in the flat. John layered up in thick socks, sweatpants, a long sleeve tee, and a large cable knit cardigan - yet he still felt the chill in his bones. He held his coffee mug in both hands, choosing the chair closest to the heater.

He let the caffeine help to put his thoughts in order; his first text was to his best mate;

> You have me on the guest list for the show tonight?

He didn’t have to wait long for the reply,

> Course I do!

> You have any guest tickets to spare? I might have a plus one

He may have been a bit presumptuous to assume James would want to go - but fuck it. He was feeling optimistic.

> Plus one?? Who?  
> Charlotte still has a ticket  
> I’m sure she’ll give it up

John smiled to himself. There were two things that Muldoon always wanted from John: that he go to every single one of his band’s shows (John really made an effort on that one, but it was getting harder and harder to make it out, thanks to working so many late hours) and that he’d put himself out there more romantically. He had probably just made his day.

John never had any trouble talking to people - but he was more comfortable asking them questions, learning about their lives. He was not comfortable opening himself up to other people. He couldn’t bear the pity in their eyes when they learned about the things he had been through. This made maintaining relationships near impossible, so he never really tried.

> Thanks mate  
> With any luck you’ll meet him later  
> See you at the show

He thought about how easy it had been to talk to James. He had told him about his childhood after knowing him for no more than a day. And James had listened patiently. His face never betrayed any signs of pity.

And then James had opened up in turn. And John, coward that he was, had run off soon after. He definitely hadn’t handled the situation as best as he could, so he was determined to assure James that he should feel no shame for the things he had shared. It was John’s own shame that had turned him away.

He confirmed the available ticket with Charlotte, then mentally prepared himself for his next phone call (he had decided against continuing their conversation in text - it was probably too much for the old man).

After three rings;

“Hello?”

“ _You must have fallen from the sky_ …” John sang by way of greeting, a smile in his voice - it was a reference to the song he had complimented in his text the night before.

He heard James’ gruff laugh and reveled in it, “Feeling whimsical this morning?”

“My entire existence is whimsy. And how are you doing this fine morning?”

“I’m well.”

John waited a beat to see if James would continue, but it seemed it was up to him to steer this conversation. “Good. That’s good. Late night last night? Sending texts to boys at two in the morning?”

“Ah. I stayed up late because - well because I was working on that damned chair.”

  
That was not what John had expected, and his heart warmed at the thought. “You really shouldn’t be losing sleep on my behalf. I appreciate a well-rested man.”

“Noted.” Sometimes this man did not make it easy - although John was fairly certain that he had said this with a smile.

“So, James, I don’t suppose you’re the kind of guy who has plans on a Saturday night?”

There was silence for a moment, then “Well the shop is open on Saturdays. There’ll be work to do.” Then a distant voice raised from somewhere across the room, “We are well ahead of schedule on all counts, John! Please, get him out of this building!”

James was silent at this betrayal. John pictured the look of annoyance that he had probably directed at Hal, and laughed. “James?” he prodded.

He heard a breath let out, “It appears that I am, in fact, free this evening.”

“Well that’s a relief. You see I have this extra ticket to a concert in Islington tonight, and I really didn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Islington?” James asked with distaste.

“Bit further into town than an old man like yourself generally ventures?” He asked with a laugh.

“Generally,” he said lightly, “But I’m happy to make the exception tonight. A favor for a friend - wouldn’t want to waste that extra ticket, of course.”

“Shall I meet you at the shop, then? We can take the tube from there.”

“I am not taking the tube to Islington on a Saturday night. I’ll drive us there.”

“He has a car! Will wonders never cease?”

“Okay, okay - just send me your address and I’ll pick you up there.”

“Door to door service, this day keeps getting better and better!” He listened as James let out a soft chuckle, “James, I just winked at you over the phone.”

“You shit,” James said, fondly.

John laughed heartily at this, “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later, then.”

He ended the call still laughing, then promptly jumped out of his skin as a voice asked, “Who the fuck was that?”

He hadn’t even noticed Joshua emerge from his room. He was making his way over to fix himself some coffee, eyes on John with a knowing grin.  
“A guy I just met,” it was an honest enough answer. Though maybe not the full truth anymore.

“Right, a guy you just met who you’re ‘winking at over the phone,’” Joshua, always quick to a laugh, did not hold back now. He had the rare distinction of being both a night and a morning person - which could sometimes be incredibly irritating. Luckily he found John in a good mood this particular morning, so he was up for taking his jokes.

“Hey, do I ever judge you when you’re embarrassing yourself in front of women?”

“Yes. Every time. Without fail. I’m just delighted I finally get to return the favor.”

“Right, well, I’m off to take as hot a shower as is humanly possible. This place is a fucking icebox,” he said, making his exit.

“If you play your cards right, you could have an extra body to warm that bed of yours tonight!” Joshua called after him, laughing again.

John could only roll his eyes - he really didn’t have the words to respond to that one.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright kids, we're done chapter five. How's everyone doing? 
> 
> This is the same song from the previous chapter, but in case you didn't listen then, or want to again:  
> [ Fallen From the Sky by Glen Hansard ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OdNMPC-GDBc)


	6. wicked game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James picks John up for the concert. 
> 
> Is it a date??

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Six: Wicked Game

 

James looked himself over in the mirror for probably the twentieth time that day. He felt like an idiotic teenager.

After the confounding phone call that morning, James had resolved not to make more of the matter than was necessary. All the same, his nerves kept betraying him. He simply didn’t remember how to navigate situations like this.

He and John had later agreed via text that they would go to Islington early to get some food and drinks before the show. James was more than happy to let John take initiative in planning the night’s events.

He had settled on a lightweight green jumper and a pair of black jeans - nothing special, but about as good as his wardrobe got. He rolled his eyes at his own reflection, grabbed his coat, and headed out the door.

———

When he pulled in front of John’s building, he found John already outside waiting for him. He was leaning casually against the wall, focused on his phone. When he noticed the car stopped in front of him, he looked up and smiled. With that smile, James felt one layer of unease stripped away.

James put the car in park, but didn’t turn off the engine. Opening his door, he stepped out and leaned on the roof of the vehicle. It was an old car, but he kept it in good order. Hal jokingly referred to it as The Walrus because of the odd brown paint - and because of the fact that it had gone through a brief phase of emitting an awful groaning sound that seemed to him like the sound he imagined those hideous creatures would likely make. James had thankfully seen it fixed some time ago. But the nickname stuck.

“Hello there, John,” he called over the roof of The Walrus.

“Hello to you, James.” That damned smile was becoming a problem.

“Are you ready to force me into spending a night in Islington?”

John laughed as he opened the passenger door. “So who are you afraid of, the hipsters or is it the posh folk?” he asked over the vehicles' roof.

“They’re all villains, to be sure.”

As they set on their way, it suddenly occurred to James to ask, “So what show is it that we’re going to anyway?”

“Good god, I completely left you out of all the details, didn’t I? How very mysterious of me.”

James raised an eyebrow with a brief sideways glance, catching sight of John’s amused face.

“Well I suppose, since you ask, I might as well tell you. My best mate’s band scored a really great gig. They mostly just play in pubs and tiny clubs around the city - but tonight they’re opening for Lucius at The Islington Assembly Hall. It’s kind of a big deal for them.”

James let this information sink in, “So I’ll be meeting your friends tonight?”

He could feel John's eyes on him and risked another look in his direction - a cautious amusement danced in his eyes, “Well, it seems only fair, considering you tricked me into meeting your only friend on our very first date.”

James instantly sobered. The radio, which was set at low volume, was the only sound that filled the car. A cheerful pop song from the 80s set the soundtrack to the scene, a strange juxtaposition to James' sudden inner turmoil. He had probably heard the song a hundred times before, but in that moment it was completely foreign. After what felt like ages, he managed to form words, “You’d consider what happened last night a date?”

John’s eyes hadn’t left James’ face, though James kept his own eyes resolutely on the road ahead. His knuckles were white on the wheel. He had still been half convinced that John was uninterested in him as anything more than as a friend - that perhaps he was just naturally flirtatious with everyone. He thought he had recovered from his misstep the night before, but apparently it was still too fresh. 

John spoke, saving him from his thoughts, “Life is too short to make things less than what they are,” he said intently. Finally his gaze let up, giving James a chance to let out a quiet steadying breath. “Besides, I think it would make things easier on both of us if we weren’t secretly thinking of this as a first date all night. Less pressure. Not to mention - we both went straight for the tragic history right off the bat. We skipped right past all the fun stuff.”

James found it difficult to argue with his logic, and he tried at an agreeable smile. He feared it wasn’t very convincing. “I think - that I can work with that.”

“Well that’s good, then,” John smiled, and settled more comfortably into his seat. The song on the radio had changed, and he reached to turn up the volume. “This is a great song,” he said closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the headrest. He had a soft upturn to his lips as he listened to the moody croon of an old Chris Isaak song.

James was thankful for the reprieve in the conversation. It gave him a chance to wrap his head around what had just been decided between them. He suspected that John was aware that he needed this time, and had given him an out by turning up the radio.

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you_  
_It's strange what desire will make foolish people do_  
_I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you_  
_And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you_

James risked one more look at John. He still had his eyes closed, listening contentedly to the song, every now and then he hummed along. A rogue curl peaked out from beneath his hat and rested delicately over his brow. James took heart from his calm, and allowed himself to ease off one more layer of tension.

———

After a small fiasco finding a place to park (John had made no effort to hide his amusement at James’ small bout of road rage) they made their way to the restaurant.

“Well if this isn’t the trendiest fucking place I’ve been to all year,” John laughed. James took in the brightly painted walls and furniture, the neon colored accent lights, and the decorative plants that hung from the ceiling. It was absurd. He was conscious that he most likely looked completely out of place here. _Fucking Islington_.

They took the table closest to the bar, and ordered a couple of lagers. “Muldoon and the guys are going to stop over here for some food after their soundcheck. Apparently Charlotte loves this place. She recommends the tacos.”

“What’s the band like?” James decided he might as well find out what he was getting himself into now, so that he might prepare himself mentally.

“As people or as musicians?” John joked lightly. “Well let’s see - you’ve got Charlotte on bass. She’s also an artist. She’s basically the human embodiment of this restaurant now that I think of it - very bright and very pretty. Dobbs plays lead guitar - he’s a bit of wanker to be honest, but he’s a killer musician. Dooley does lead vocals and most of the songwriting. He’s really great - I think you’ll like him. And Muldoon is my best mate. Known him for, god, more than ten years now. He’s on drums. They call themselves 'Kings and Thieves.' Rock and Roll is probably the best descriptor.”

“And don’t they need someone on keys? Why aren’t you up there with them?”

“Oh I’m shit in a band. Maybe it’s because I got my start playing solo classical pieces, but I do not play well with others. I’ve never been much of a joiner.”

“You held up just fine playing with me on that song last night.” James pointed out, remembering how effortlessly John had picked up on the melody.

John contemplated, “That was definitely the exception, not the rule. I’ve never played like that with anyone else before.”

James barely had time to be touched, because at that moment a loud voice came from the entrance - it shouted, “Silver!” to which John jumped slightly then grinned in that direction.

“Oy, Muldy! How are ya mate?” He got up to greet the small, bearded, bald man with a friendly hug. For a strange moment James thought he had just called the man “moldy” before it clicked that this was likely his friend _Muldoon_. James sat awkwardly in his seat, waiting for an introduction. He had no ambitions for being the initiator.

He thought back on how John had referred to the guys in the band with what he presumed were their surnames. This man, Muldoon’s, exclamation of “Silver” would lead him to believe it was in fact John’s surname. _John Silver?_ He let the name play in his brain, until he heard his own name coming from John’s mouth. He had nearly missed the introduction he'd been waiting for.

Muldoon clapped him on the shoulder, “Good to meet ya, James.”

James tried to pull on his “pleasant social interaction hat” for John’s sake, “Yes, of course, very nice to meet you.”

Muldoon continued to smile brightly and took a seat next to them. John reclaimed his own seat, and James noticed a new look of slight apprehension hiding behind his smile. He remembered that feeling from just the night before when he had had to witness John’s first meeting with his own best friend.

“I'm thrilled that you could make it to the show, the pair of ya,” Muldoon went on enthusiastically. “There’s already a great energy - the whole band is buzzing. Even Dobbs isn’t being a complete prat tonight. It’s really gonna be great.”

James smiled politely, “I’m looking forward to it.” He still wasn’t sure how true that was.

Muldoon chuckled at him, apparently finding something about him incredibly amusing, though James couldn’t imagine what.

Muldoon placed a large order of assorted tacos to-go, “The crew wanted to hang in the green room and prep, so I volunteered to come pick up the food,” he said by way of explaining their absence.

As James and John finished placing their own orders, Muldoon started to laugh to himself - as one does when a memory suddenly surfaces.

“What the fuck are you on about?” John asked amused.

“It’s just - James, he hasn’t offered to cook for you yet, has he?” James was taken aback by having the question directed at him.

“No, he hasn’t,” James responded, with a quizzical smile.

At the same time, John gave an exasperated plea, “Ah, stuff it, Muldoon.”

“As a favor to you, and our new acquaintance, I am obligated to warn you against eating anything this man cooks,” he warned in good humor. “He won’t mean to, but there’s a good chance you’ll end up poisoned.”

James laughed, imagining John fumbling in a kitchen, setting things on fire in his wake. It was somehow comforting, he had been thinking this man was fully adaptable to any situation, always calm and cool. Knowing he was in fact human was a relief.

“Hey, I have gotten much better since _the incident_ ,” John countered.

“The incident?” James asked with interest.

“The Incident was the time we made the grievous mistake of lettin’ Silver cook the Christmas Eve dinner. The whole lot of us were holed up shittin’ and vomittin’ for a solid 24 hours. I completely missed the Christmas of 2011, thanks to his rotten ham!”

The three of them were laughing freely, James couldn’t remember the last time his face had felt this sensation, or his throat had produced these sounds. He was in the moment, out of his head, it was exhilarating.

“In my defense,” John spoke through his laughter, “the shop we got that meat from was closed down a month later by the Food Standards Agency. It was just as likely we were sold spoiled meat!”

‘Yeah, well I’d be more likely to accept that excuse if it were the only time you mucked up a meal. That was by far the worse, but I’ve had all sorts of burnt and undercooked food from ya over the years. Trust me, James, ya don wanna risk it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” James sighed, winding down from his laughter. “And that shouldn’t be too much of an issue. I happen to be an incredible cook.”

“No!” John was pleasantly annoyed at this revelation.

Muldoon leaned in to John with an exaggerated whisper, “Silver, ya gotta make it work with this one - it’s your best chance at survival!” And John might have blushed, though it was hard to tell thanks to his golden complexion. Honestly, who had a tan like that in England in November? 

The three of them continued on in companionable conversation about the intricacies of cooking until their food arrived. John and James’ plates were set down, and Muldoon lifted his large bag to take back to the venue.

“Well, I’d better be headin’ back. You lads have fun tonight. - Oh and you should stop backstage after our set! You’ll get the mid-level star treatment.” He ended with a wink - at which both John and James couldn’t hold back their laughter. As they thanked him for the offer, he made a somewhat bewildered exit.

“Tell the truth,” John said, chewing on his fish taco, “you spent at least half an hour trying to wrap your head around those texts last night, didn’t you?”

James grinned at the memory, “I was completely at a loss for how to respond, I confess. I still can’t believe that I sent a _wink_ in a fucking text. I have genuinely never done that before.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything, isn’t there?”

“Yes. And sometimes a second, and even a third,” James shot a real-life actual wink John’s way, and they both broke up with laughter all over again.

It might have been the lager going to his head, but James was feeling lighter than he had in years. His earlier thought that he felt like a teenager occurred to him again, but this time with a far less negative connotation. He had never held any hope that he would feel this way again - the thrill of it was intoxicating.

“You know,” he said coming back to himself, “I had my doubts about this place - and I still think it’s a little absurd - but this is a fucking brilliant taco.”

John smiled across the table at him, “I like the idea of taking you places that break you out of your comfort zone. You could use a little excitement in your life.”

“Oh, yeah? You think a Mexican-style restaurant in North London is cause for excitement?”

“It’s a start.”

“What kind of name is Barrio anyway? Isn’t that the word for donkey?” He asked, frowning at the restaurant’s name on the menu.

John chuckled, “No, that would be _burro_. 'Barrio' basically means it’s a place where people speak Spanish.”

James looked up at him, interested, “And I suppose you speak Spanish?”

John fixed him with a dangerous smile, and adopted a sultry affectation to his voice, “Si, he vivido en Barcelona durante un tiempo corto.”

James didn’t know what he had expected, and he wasn’t entirely sure what John had just said, but he would have been content for John to speak only in Spanish for the rest of the night. He realized his mouth was slightly agape, and blinked back to reality. “And what the fuck does that mean?”

John chuckled again, “I lived in Barcelona for a short time. And I happen to be a quick learner. I picked up the language pretty easily, and it’s more or less locked in there now.”

“Apparently the culinary arts are the only exception to your learning prowess?”

“Muldoon is full of shit. I’m really not that bad.”

“I think I’ll do the cooking first, all the same.”

“Okay, then it’s a date.”

James blinked, thinking 'How did we get here?' Then he gave John his famous half grin, and agreed.

“It’s a date.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> James knows NO Spanish in this headcannon apparently - because that was all very simple Spanish, let's be real. 
> 
> The nameless 80s pop song in the car can be whatever you imagined! But if you're interested in what I had in mind while I was writing it[ click here!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EtnwGXdPsDk)
> 
> The other song in the car:  
> [ Wicked Game by Chris Isaak](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=etxHaOghrIM)  
> (I plucked this song right out of [this silverflint playlist](http://kalanchooe.tumblr.com/post/138439193132/in-my-head-you-are-not-welcome-a-silverflint) that I found on tumblr by user kalanchooe)
> 
> The restaurant Barrio is real and it looks wild [ check it out.](http://www.barriobars.com/angel)
> 
> BY THE WAY, I personally have absolutely nothing against Islington, but I'm sorry, James Flint hates that fucking place :)


	7. tempest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and John attend a concert.

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Seven: Tempest

 

Once they arrived at the concert hall, James and John made their way upstairs to the balcony. The pit was full of young, hipster types, and John couldn’t bring himself to make James suffer through that.

As they leaned on the railing, James looked down at the crowd and said, “You know I used to go to concerts all the time. I don’t think I’ve been in over two years now.”

“No surprise," John chuckled, "You’ve been busy suffering through the nights on the streets of Greenwich, with nothing but your guitar for company.”

“True enough,” James grinned.

“Well, I’m glad of it. How else would I have ever met you?”

James smiled, he might have even blushed in the low-light, but he said nothing.

“Alright, James,” he said shifting to a topic more suited to a loud concert hall. “It’s get-to-know-me music question time.”

“Meaning what?”

“I’m going to ask you about the concerts you’ve been to. I promise I won't judge, no matter what you say.”

“Alright,” he agreed with that half-grin he had so perfected.

John grinned right back at him, “First up - _best_ concert you’ve ever been to?”

“Neil Diamond,” he said straight-faced, not missing a beat.

“Neil Diamond? Really?” John laughed, “Okay, I did say I wouldn’t judge. Moving on - _worst_ concert you ever went to?”

“Oasis," straight-faced again.

“Oh, you are full of surprises," John bit his lip as he considered, "Let’s see - _first_ concert you ever went to?”

“INXS," he looked like he was trying to remain straight-faced, but he finally broke into a small smile as he conjured up the memory. "It was 1992. It changed me as a person.”

  “Interesting. I think I know the one song. The hit?" He racked his brain briefly, then it came to him, "Never Tear Us Apart?”

“Of course you’d know that one, everyone knows that one - ” he stopped short, and his expression changed suddenly. He had been grinning teasingly at John, now he gazed at him, searching - he studied John’s face so intently that he began to feel self conscious.

“What the hell are you looking at?” John asked apprehensively.

“Sorry, it’s only just occurred to me - you kind of look like Michael Hutchence," he broke into a huge grin, "That explains so much.”

“I don’t even know who that is. Is that a good thing?” John was still squirming under James’ scrutiny, though he began to smile tentatively.

“I’d say so. Michael Hutchence was the lead singer of INXS." When John still didn't give any signs of understanding, he went on, "He was my first male celebrity crush. That concert was the scene of my teenage sexual awakening.”

They were still laughing over this revelation, when the lights began to dim, and the band took the stage.

—————

When the stage lights came up on the band, James was almost disappointed. He would have much preferred to simply continue talking to John.

However, when they started to play, he was pleasantly surprised by the fact that he didn’t hate it. He watched Muldoon go wild on the drums - he was completely in his element. The girl - Charlotte - was exactly how John had described. Her long blonde hair hung in waves over a vibrant purple dress - colorful tattoos created sleeves on her upper arms. The wanker, whose name escaped him, played the guitar well enough, though he wasn't impressed with his overall stage presence. The man singing had a gripping command of the stage and the crowd, and a decent voice. He could even make out the words quite clearly, which was essential for James’ appreciation of any musician. Nothing worse than a singer who mumbles through their lyrics. The band wasn’t necessarily his usual taste, but they were good enough.

Then he looked at the man next to him. John was leaning low on the railing, his shoulders moving with the music. His long dark curls danced on his shoulders, and James could just make out the smile on his face from his viewpoint slightly above and behind him. The sight of John enjoying his friends in the band was monumentally more interesting to him than what was happening on stage itself.

At the end of the first song John cheered, then he looked back at James. He caught him watching, and smiled knowingly back at him. “Not bad, right?”

“No, not bad at all,” James replied.

They stood close for the rest of the set. James was aware of every movement John made next to him, though he did his best not to stare. Every now and then, John would lean in and shout something into his ear to the effect of, “This is one of my favorites,” or “Muldoon kills it on this one.” James felt a thrill each time he felt John breath on his neck, and had to shake himself out of a thought of what his lips would feel like there instead.

Finally the lead singer, who John had reminded him was called Dooley, announced they were playing their last song. “You’ve all been brilliant! We are so thankful to Lucius for having us tonight, we love you all - this is Holding On!”

“Okay, this is my actual favorite!” John said, leaning closer still to James. In that moment, James thought he would have enjoyed even the shittiest band in London, as long as he were watching them with John.

_Holding on to a breath in mid-air_  
_I know what you want_  
_But don't know how to take you there_  
_Holding on to a breath of mid-air_  
_I'll never be brave enough to keep you there_

———

After the set, they made their way to the backstage area.

They found the band and the crew in high spirits, still laughing and congratulating each other on a great show. John walked ahead into the green room, “Lads! And dear lady,” the latter addressed at Charlotte, “That was fucking legendary!”

“Silver!” came exclamations from several of the people in the room, as they moved to greet him. James held back in the doorway, awkwardly waiting for an introduction. It was Muldoon who first broke him out of his bubble.

“Oy, James! Alright?”

He twitched a small smile in his direction, “Yes, of course - you all were - fucking legendary.”

As Muldoon laughed openly, though not unkindly, at James’ uncomfortableness, John turned back to him, still beaming. He gripped James' forearm to pull him in. “James, meet the rest of the band.”  
  
James willingly followed him around the room, endured meeting new people, for the sake of staying near John. He was hyper aware of every time John would touch his arm, even though the fabric of his jumper kept them from skin-to-skin contact. He could feel his whole body warming whenever John placed a hand on his bicep as he said, “This is my friend James.”

That word. _Friend_. Somehow it seemed inadequate, though he had to remind himself that they had actually only known each other for less than three days. He was getting ahead of himself.

James briefly talked to Dooley and Dobbs, though he wasn’t overly impressed by either of them. Dobbs proved himself to be every bit the wanker that John had warned within a few sentences. Dooley was tolerable, though James didn't find him as interesting as the songs he sang. Their only true redeeming qualities seemed to be that they adored John. In fact every person in the room seemed to gravitate toward him. They drank up every word out of his mouth. James could relate.

And all the while John talked to his friends, he never let James feel out of place, always made sure that he was included in the conversation. He introduced James to Charlotte, who proved to be a much more interesting person than the other two combined.

James was complimenting Charlotte on her prowess on the bass, when John jumped in, “You know James is an absolutely incredible musician himself, so his good opinion is as good as gold.”

“Is that right?” she asked with interest, “And what kind of music do you play?”

“Oh, it’s pretty much your standard singer-songwriter fare.”

“So you’re trying your hand at modesty, now?” John laughed, “I can assure you he is far above standard.”

“I’d love to hear you sometime! Do you have any records?” to her credit, Charlotte seemed to be genuinely interested, and wasn't just saying this for the sake of being polite.

James started saying something about his poor excuses for demos - but John surprised him by interjecting, “I’m working on it.”

Then he fucking winked.

James raised a questioning brow - what _exactly_ was he working on?

John responded only with a broad grin.

Before James could get the words out to question him further, he felt a hand land heavily on his shoulder. He resisted the urge to shutter completely at the strange touch - it was Muldoon - he had one hand on each his and John’s shoulders, “Alright lads, I’m headin’ out to catch the rest of the Lucius set - those girls are class. You comin’?”

James had never heard of the band, though judging by the crowd he had observed earlier, he didn’t have high hopes. However, John seemed quite eager, so he was obliged to table the previous topic for a later time.

———

  
_We are two ships passing_  
_How long will this last_  
_We haven't had the time to work it out_  
_Sitting in the backseat_  
_Who knows where our paths meet_  
_And you keep shouting we've gotta work it out_

The volume from the stage grew louder as they made their way back to the main part of the venue.

John fell into step with Muldoon, James walked behind him caught up in conversation with Charlotte.

“You might be fucked, Silver.” Muldoon said amicably enough.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” John asked.

“That man has been watching you all night. Drinkin’ you up with his eyes. He’s gone on ya. Barely spared a glance at another person in there,” Muldoon was watching for a reaction, so John tried to remain impassive. “How long have you two been doin’ this thing?”

“I only met him two nights ago,” John said smiling sideways at him.

“Two days, is it?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “I’m serious, Silver. Be careful with that one. He’s already lookin’ at ya like the sun shines outta your ass. If you’re not planning on makin’ somethin’ work here, somebody’s gonna get hurt.”

John took his words to heart. It was true he had a spectacular history of pushing people away when they got too close. He made a profession of fucking things up. And Muldoon of all people knew this.

He glanced back at James and caught him smiling at something Charlotte had said. It was small, and timid - but genuine. He seemed to feel John’s eyes on him and looked up to meet his gaze. The tight smile softened, and his eyes crinkled, emphasizing his smile lines.

_Fuck_. John thought to himself. _If he’s gone, I am too_.

They entered the large room, and stopped at the back of the crowd. James claimed the space directly to John’s left. Their knuckles brushed against each other, and John twitched to take his hand - he resisted. He needed to sort his thoughts before he took things too far. In this moment he wanted too badly to take things too far.

_You know I'm riding on this wave alone_  
_You know I'm riding on this wave alone_  
_You aren't riding on this wave alone_

_\-----_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the off chance you're not as deeply entrenched in this fandom as I am, here's why a couple of things are funny:  
> [ Toby Stephens is a giant nerd who loves Neil Diamond.](http://www.ew.com/article/2014/01/24/black-sails-starz-toby-stephens)  
> [ Luke Arnold looks like Michael Hutchence :)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LxTH2lb8Uis)
> 
> So did you all know that Laudo Liebenberg, the actor who plays Dooley, is actually a musician?? That's why I made him the lead singer in this fictional band! Anyway, I used one of his actual songs in this chapter, and this is it:  
> [ Holding On by aKING](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X77gswmU594)  
> (I've listened to a bunch of their songs, and they're honestly not always to my personal taste - but I did really like a couple of them)
> 
> The song that the real life band Lucius is singing:  
> [ Tempest by Lucius](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lt21TbQOItY)  
> (Okay - I had this song in my own personal silverflint playlist, and I just really wanted to use it. But also this band has actually played at this venue before, so that's pretty cool. And I think that James would be kind of confused by them, but would begrudgingly really like them. Like he's really angry about it).


	8. my heart got caught on your sleeve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a reprieve from dialogue
> 
> what are these hopeless boys thinking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is quite short, but I think it's one of my favorites.  
> ;)

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Eight - My Heart Got Caught On Your Sleeve

————————

_Sometimes wish we never met_  
_Cause now I fear the best_  
_Oh I am captive in my thoughts_  
_Surely this must be a test_

_I hardly know your voice_  
_And find that I am hanging on your every word_  
_Burned inside my brain_  
_And I must stop until we meet again_

They were walking toward Charlotte’s flat. It was past one in the morning, and James was still in fucking Islington. 

John had made the suggestion that they might go to the after-party. “It’s really totally cool if you don’t want to go,” he had said. In truth, James usually would have taken any opportunity to avoid extended social interactions - especially the ones that happened far from home in the middle of the night. But he had a strange sense that if he didn’t stay close to John for as long as possible, that he would drift too far out of reach and disappear completely. Like he was in the middle of some fever dream - one that he had no interest in waking from.

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the mesmerizing music of that band whose singers seemed to come from some other mystical world, or maybe it was the increasingly late hour - but all aspects of this night were beginning to take on a heightened sense of reality. He was aware of every time John’s hand brushed by his as they walked in tandem. He was aware of every time John’s eyes drifted in his direction - even more so if this happened when John thought he wasn’t looking. He was aware of every time John said his name. He was aware of every laugh, smile, and sigh. He was even aware of that damned curl that wouldn’t stay tucked behind his ear.

After what had happened last night, after he had tried to kiss him and John had left, James had no thoughts about making a move tonight. He was confused, to be sure. John seemed to genuinely enjoy being here with him - and yet they were suspended in this excruciating state of inaction - always tempting the other to touch, but neither finding the strength.

They continued in companionable conversation as if this extra layer of suppressed tension weren’t threatening to burst with every word.

———

_Don't know how to start this_  
_No I don't know what to say_  
_This seemed to fall out of the sky_  
_Lost and found is all the same_

_Trying to think of my heart as an ocean_  
_Where there's room enough for things_  
_To come up to the top_  
_I'm counting on it sinking down again_

He had offered James an out for the after-party. He half-hoped he would take it so they could both take some time to breath - the other half thought that his heart would have shattered if he had agreed to leave.

As they neared the end of the short walk to Charlotte’s flat, John reflected on the will it took not to reach out and take James’ hand. He was fairly certain that if in that moment James had taken the initiative and breached that initial touch, that his own resolve would have broken and he’d have had him up against the nearest wall in a matter of seconds, his mouth exploring every bit of James’ with an unwarranted urgency. He shook the thought away, and put his hands in his pockets.

John was determined to do this right. He needed to have his right head about him. He wouldn’t let his aptitude for ruining every good thing in his life ruin this new shining golden thing too.

Still, he couldn’t keep himself from simply looking at James - the way his fiery hair gently framed his sharp features, the intoxicating vibrancy of his deep green eyes (he had tortured him by wearing that green jumper which made them impossible to ignore), and the way his one finger tapped nervously on his thigh when he got flustered which was so very endearing. Each laugh that softened his face was a gift.

The rest of the group made it to Charlotte's building first - the pair of them had fallen back, absorbed in their private conversation. When they caught up to the small group, John found that they were all grinning at them - as if they had just been talking about them seconds before.

He raised his eye brows at the lot of them, questioning their barely repressed giggles, at which many of them broke into actual laughter before heading through the door.

Charlotte linked her arm through Silver’s as she led them to the entrance, but she made her address to them both, still grinning, “You two are making everyone giddy. It’s like there’s something in the air.”

John rolled his eyes at her, letting out a small laugh. “Let’s not keep them waiting then.”

———

_The moon is full and I can hear him laughing_  
_As he plays his tricks on me_  
_Almost like he's cheering on_  
_My dueling joy and agony_

————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is by Lucius - the band they just saw together in the previous chapter. I imagine that it stuck with them both. Listen to it you guys. Even if you clicked on the link from last chapter and didn't care for this band, you should definitely listen to this song. Even if you don't actually listen to any of the songs in this fic, I think you should listen to this one. It's goddamn beautiful. It really sets a tone. 100% recommend. 
> 
> [My Heart Got Caught on Your Sleeve by Lucius](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AUT03H6rmEU)  
> (I used the lyrics out of order to better fit the narrative btw).


	9. we all went down with the ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's the after-party!
> 
> enjoy! ;)

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Nine: We All Went Down With The Ship

\---------

John left him briefly. James watched him from across the room - deep in conversation with Dobbs.

James was sat at a table with Charlotte and her flatmate - an intriguing brunette called Idelle. All the same, he had rather little interest in the conversation between them - apparently Charlotte’s boyfriend Logan was overly clingy, and Idelle suggested in a deadpan that they should just kill him and be done with it.

He excused himself to take a look around the flat. It was an open studio space. The white walls were decorated with a multitude of art works. Charlotte, it turned out, wasn’t simply an artist. She was incredibly gifted and incredibly successful - which would explain how she could afford to live in such a spacious apartment in a trendy neighborhood. (Idelle was an actress who had appeared on the West End more than once. The pair were formidable).

James was standing in front of a particularly fascinating piece - a large canvas saturated in deep blue, purple, and black oil paints depicting a dramatic scene of a large ship careening in a dark storm - when a voice spoke in his ear. “Sometimes I think I may have been a pirate in a past life.”

He hadn’t heard John’s approach and wondered how long he had been standing behind him. “Oh, really? And what brought on that belief?” he asked, raising an amused eyebrow.

John stepped around him to lean casually against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest - directly next to the painting in question. He furrowed his brows in thought, “It’s only that I sometimes have these recurring dreams - I’m part of a crew of pirates - and it’s always a matter of life or death. It’s not always the same though. Sometimes there’s a great battle, other times it’s a fight just between two men. Sometimes the ship is caught in a wild storm - just last week I woke up absolutely starving after being stuck at sea without food or water.”

“Well then, logic would agree. We must always trust our dreams to reveal to us the truths of past lives,” he said with a laugh.

John feigned offense, “Oh sure, laugh. What would your dreams make you, then?”

“I rarely dream.” It was true - in fact he didn’t sleep much at all of late.

“Well that’s no fun at all, is it?” John prodded.

James reached into the recesses of his memory, and finally recalled, “I’ve dreamed more than once that I was a bird.”

“Oh, well that is interesting.” John perked up, “Perhaps you were meant to be a pilot in this life! _James McGraw, pilot captain_.” He tested the words out, but apparently didn’t care for the taste of them as he wrinkled his nose, “Oh no, I don’t like the sound of that at all.”

“I’d have to agree.” It didn’t occur to him in that moment that he hadn’t ever actually told John his surname.

“You know," John said following a new train of thought, "I told you I don’t really write songs - and that’s true. But I do sometimes try out ideas - I just never follow through to finish the job." He spoke slowly, as if unsure why he was saying any of this, "Anyway, I wrote a bit after I woke from one of those dreaded pirate dreams," James watched as he came to a decision, "I’ll play it for you?” He nodded his head in the direction of a music nook in the corner of the flat - James was painfully aware that John’s hands remained crossed over his chest. He had apparently given up the habit of guiding him by touching his upper arm as he had done earlier that evening.

The music nook was a small set-up by a window where a keyboard, an acoustic guitar, and several varieties of bass were displayed. John took a seat at the keys, and switched on the instrument.

“Okay, so for context - this dream in particular featured a canon-fire hell - a ship near a shoreline of the verge of capsizing - and a tyrant captain facing an ill-timed mutiny.”

“Very specific.” James smiled amused, “I am eager to hear it.”

“Okay so I’ve just got this piano bit, and then what would probably have been the chorus, if I ever bothered to finish - ” James observed the way he stalled and rambled and suspected that he was actually nervous to play for him. He had so rarely let nerves show about anything - it was actually rather fascinating.

  
Finally he allowed his fingers to fall gracefully on the keys. John began to shape a melody based in minor chords. He played a few wordless measures, then said, “Okay and then the chorus would be…”

The music shifted to a slightly less melancholy melody - though the words were still quite tragic to James’ ears.

_We'll suffer for another man's falling_  
_Blindsided by an ego that can't stop_  
_We sink to the bottom to rise to the top and say…_

_We all fall under the spell of the charmer_  
_Devil's tongue from the shepherd to his flock_  
_We sink to the bottom to rise to the top and say…_

“And then probably something over-dramatic about the sea taking over,” he spoke as his fingers still created new melodies on the keys. “You know, seafaring metaphors - _oh I will sink until the waves cover me_ \- maybe? and yeah that’s all I’ve got.” his fingers trailed off, the incomplete song came to an abrupt end.

“Tragic.” James said, stone-faced.

“Tragically bad?” John’s face dropped in apprehension.

“Tragic that you haven’t finished it. It’s beautiful.”

John broke into a smile, “That was mean, you know.”

“I’m a mean person,” he said, though the corner of his mouth twitched to betray this claim.

“Hey, Silver! How come you never play songs for me?” Dooley called from across the room.

John laughed, “That’s because I never wanted to make you jealous - wouldn’t want to put you to shame - delicate songbird that you are.”

Dooley responded with some light-hearted profanity - then went back to entertaining the group that surrounded him.

“He’s right, you know. You should play for people. _Silver_.” He tested the name out experimentally. He decidedly preferred John.

John looked surprised at hearing the word out of his mouth. “You know everyone - I mean _everyone_ \- calls me Silver. I have no earthly idea why I told you to call me John.”

“Silver is a rather odd surname,” James observed.

“I’m given to understand that my pregnant teenage mother changed her name when she ran away from home. Seems like the kind of name that would have been appealing to a free-spirit sixteen year-old girl in the mid 80s.” He paused considering a fresh thought, “You know I had assumed your name was Flint when I saw the names on the shop - but Hal called you McGraw.”

James fixed John with an intent look - they had agreed to avoid tragic histories tonight. He supposed it was already tomorrow, but tried to keep it light just the same.

“I am also an orphan,” he stated matter-of-factly, “My parents died when I was quite young - but I was raised by an uncle - my mother’s rather awful brother. I won't say he was the worst person to walk the earth, but he was far from nurturing. Prone to drink and easily provoked to violence. _His_ name was Flint. And seeing as he was the kind of person that people noticed - that they remembered - the people in the neighborhood began to refer to me as 'Flint’s boy.' Eventually, at school the kids took to calling me Flint as well, though nobody once asked if I liked the nickname. Anyway - skip forward twenty or so years, my uncle has passed due to liver failure - a natural fate for a natural drunk - and his business partner, Hal’s father, retired to Cornwall soon after. So the pair of us inherited the antique repair shop. Changing the name would have been more trouble than it was worth.”

“What’s in a name?” John asked with a kind smile.

“Indeed.”

———

The night seemed like it would go on forever, James thought, but only in the best possible way. They seemed to be living in some realm that existed outside of time and worry - the rare place where extreme exhaustion and adrenaline fueled elation met. The group that had assembled at the flat were all like-minded artist type people. Throughout the night different groups and variations would visit the music nook and play a few songs, not exactly putting on a show, but happy enough to let the guests enjoy what they played.

James and John stayed together most of the time - sometimes going in and out of others conversations, often going off to enjoy their own. They talked about anything and everything - music and books were a common thread - but they also talked about little things, like small golden childhood memories, or their favorite time of day (they both preferred the nighttime hours), or the best cup of coffee they ever had. John recounted tales of some of the dreadful jobs he had worked over the years, instead of complaining about them - as they all seemed absolutely horrible - he provided many amusing anecdotes. He had a gift for storytelling.

They delighted in finding out what kinds of shared interests they had. One revelation came when Charlotte offered to make everyone her specialty drink - Mai Tais.

“I hate rum.” They replied in an unintentional unison.

They had laughed themselves silly, already giddy from the late hour which was steadily nearing morning. “You couldn’t possibly have been a pirate if you hate rum, you know,” James said through his dwindling laughter.

“Oh, I’m sure I would have suffered through it just for the show.”

Little by little guests began to make their exits, though some had opted simply to pass out in various areas throughout the flat. James and John had fallen into a comfortable silence on the couch as they listened to one of the guests whom they didn’t know strum out a quiet song on the acoustic guitar.

_Moved me like a wind_  
_And shook me when you blew in_  
_But all winds someday change_  
_Before they blow in cold and strange_

He sang it softly to himself, but James took in every word as if they had been whispered in his ear. He found them somehow both comforting and foreboding. The man with the guitar continued on, picking out the chords and humming the melody softly, and James sat transfixed. It wasn't until John let out a soft sigh next to him that James pulled his attention away from the stranger. John’s eyelids had grown heavy - he seemed to be in real danger of drifting off to sleep, perhaps to a dreamworld of pirates and high-sea adventures.

“I think,” James said with some regret, “that it might be time for me to escort you back home.”

“No, not yet,” John protested weakly.

James smiled fondly, “Not to worry, we’ll take the long way home.”

———

James was rather used to functioning on little to no sleep - all the same, he kept the window cracked so that the cool air might keep him alert. It was already after seven a.m. and the first hints of sunrise were upon them.

He glanced briefly over at John - he was bundled up in his scarf and hat, hands in his coat pockets, looking bleary-eyed out the window as his teeth chattered ever so slightly.

“Sorry, you’re cold, I’ll close the window,” James said, he was still unaccustomed to considering other people’s needs. He'd really have to work on making more of an effort, he berated himself.

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll be cold either way - I’m always cold. Besides, I like the fresh air. It’s reassuring me that I’m not currently dreaming.”

James made a soft hum in acknowledgement. He could relate.

John started suddenly next to him, “I can’t believe I completely forgot to tell you what I was talking to Dobbs about earlier!”

“Oh?” James raised an eyebrow.

“Well, as I’m sure you’re all too aware of now, I am a person who is absolutely brimming with charm and appeal - and every now and then I use that charm to trick people into doing nice things for me.”

“Okay?” James asked skeptical yet amused.

“It also happens that my dear friend Dobbs - “

“The wanker?”

“Yes, thank you, my dear friend  Dobbs 'The Wanker' has unlimited access to a pretty respectable recording studio. And I have charmed him into inviting the two of us over to get some decent quality recordings of your songs - pro-bono of course.” He couldn’t suppress his excited grin. James was so taken aback by this information that he was at a complete loss for words.

John grew suddenly apprehensive in James' silence, “That is, if it’s something you’re interested in?”

They came to a stop at a red light and James was finally able to look at John fully. His blue eyes were wide and his brow was furrowed.

“That is without a doubt the kindest thing anybody has done for me in years.”

James suppressed a laugh at the series of emotions that played on John’s face - he made the shift from worry, to delight, to a feigned indifference in a comically short passage of time. “Well I did it as much for myself as I did for you. That cd you gave me was barely audible. An assault on my eardrums, really. I need a recording I can actually bare to listen to.”

“Of course,” James conceded with a half grin.

“You’re gonna be great.” John said softly. Now that the excitement of the moment had passed he was already starting to drift back into sleepiness. He leaned back on the headrest, and closed his eyes with a sigh. The warm glow of the sunrise played on his features. James had to force his eyes back on the road. “Tuesday is best for Dobbs, if that works for you,” John said absently, eyes still closed.

“I can make that work.” James said, though he wasn’t sure if John really heard him.

John had fallen full asleep by the time James pulled the car to a stop in front of John’s flat. His face was peaceful, completely devoid of worry lines, his mouth was ever so slightly agape. James thought about what it would be like to kiss those lips for the hundredth time that night - day? He sighed and got out of the car.

James walked around to John’s door, opened it, and crouched to gently shake him awake. John’s eyes shot open, he quickly took in the scene around him - first he registered the fact that the car had stopped, second that James’ hand still rested on his shoulder.

James saw as he noticed his hand, and replaced it in his pocket as he straightened. “You’re home,” he said smiling softly.

“I can’t believe I fell asleep, what a waste.”

James chuckled, “It’s been a long night.”

John climbed out of the car and they stood face to face, their breath mingled in clouds between them in the chill morning air.

“Not long enough.”

They stood there like that for a few moments longer, neither willing to be the first to depart - neither knowing how to continue.

“Thank you,” James finally said. “For getting me out the door. I haven’t really been living for nearly two years now. I don’t know how you’ve done it. But I’m grateful. It was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

John smiled brightly, “It was truly my pleasure.”

Still, they remained - sleep deprived, punch-drunk, and just a little crazy with indecision. Their smiles had faded slightly, and James finally pulled his gaze away from John’s eager blue eyes. He was about to say something about heading home and sleeping for two days straight - might have even managed a couple of words, though he couldn’t now recall - because the second he turned his attention back to John his lips were occupied in a whole new activity.

James was so taken by surprise, that it took him a moment to reciprocate. He closed his eyes and melted into the kiss. It was soft, gentle, perfect. John’s hands found their way to cradle James’ face. They were freezing, yet paradoxically electrifying. They had both been so conscious of avoiding skin-to-skin contact throughout the evening that the shock of it was invigorating. James’ own hands reflexively found John’s and held them firmly in place. His fingerless gloves provided the double benefit of warming both of their hands without fully precluding actual skin contact. All too soon, John pulled his mouth away, and gently rested his forehead against James' own.

“I don’t know why - _or how_ \- I waited so long to do that,” John said, catching his breath.

“It was worth the wait.”

———————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> John's song:  
> [ We All Went Down With The Ship by Ed Harcourt ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eOT-h5oo5J8)  
> (This is live, because I like it better than the studio version. It's also recorded at the Islington Assembly Hall which is cool. But the lyrics are hard to hear clearly sometimes, so you can [read them all here](http://genius.com/Ed-harcourt-we-all-went-down-with-the-ship-lyrics) if you like. There are parts that might as well have been written specifically about Black Sails 1x08 tbh).
> 
> The early morning stranger's song:  
> [Like A Wind by Bahamas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yjFon4uT-KE)  
> (This is my username you guys! I worked it in and it fits really well! It's definitely the kind of song you'd play at 6:00am when you haven't slept. It's one of my fave silverflint songs, but like the kind that makes me cry worrying about what season four is going to do to me).
> 
> ps - You might have noticed I changed the rating from T to M. This is because I have basically finished this fic and know exactly what's coming in later chapters. It also means that I will hopefully post them in a more timely manner :))))


	10. and the healing has begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in the recording studio

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Ten: And The Healing Has Begun

 

\----------

The next 48 hours were torture.

Long after James left with the sunrise on Sunday morning, the feel of his scruff still lingered on John's skin. He brushed his fingers lightly over his lips, trying to hold onto the feel of James's mouth on his. Still smiling softly at the memory, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

His alarm rang only a few hours later, and he woke wanting nothing more than to call James right then. To make plans to spend that night together - and hopefully the next, and the next.

Unfortunately he was an adult, and adults had to go to their jobs so that they could pay the rent.

He readied himself reluctantly through his lingering exhaustion, spent his time on the tube hopelessly wishing he were in James' ugly old car instead, then suffered through a particularly horrendous ten hour shift at work.

His catering job was tedious on a good day, but he was so restless after all that had happened, that he found he could barely concentrate on simple tasks. Mixing cocktails for an endless stream of dead-eyed posh types who were trying to feel good about themselves at a charity event they didn’t even know the name of was simply not enough to hold his interest. He went home feeling both mentally and physically exhausted. On the journey back to his flat, he walked past the spot where he had twice seen James playing under the lamplight, finding it much less appealing without his presence.

The next day he did it all again.

The only bright points in these two endless days were found in his text exchanges with James. He’d leave for a five minute break and see a message blinking up at him, referencing some inside joke that had been born in the liminal hours of that night they'd shared. Then he’d return to his tiresome work, and the smile he graced the guests with would be a little more genuine - at least for a while.

So when Tuesday finally came John was perhaps too eager to see James again. In fact when James’ odd brown car pulled up at the curb, he nearly tripped over himself moving to open the door.

When he plopped rather gracelessly into the passenger seat, James was laughing freely at his fumble.

“Oh, that’s a fine greeting, after two long days apart,” John sighed in mock indignation.

“I”m sorry,” James said pulling himself together. “You’re usually so smooth and cool, it was - unexpected, is all.”

“My cover is blown - I’m actually just your basic human disaster.”

Their eyes met fully for the first time that day. John could happily get lost in James' green depths for hours.

“Hello,” James said.

“Hello.” John smiled back at him. He could hardly admit to himself how much he had needed to see that freckled face - but as he watched the lines of James’ face (which he knew had too often formed into expressions of anger and sorrow in his life) soften in affection, his heart skipped a beat.

He thought if he sat still there like that for one more second he might explode, and apparently James felt the same. They both leaned in, their mouths met in a soft, lingering kiss.

“Fuck,” John sighed, leaning heavily back into his seat. “And I thought it was a long time coming the first time.”

James simply chuckled, and put the car in drive.

———

Despite John’s busy schedule in the previous days, he had managed to do a little organizing for the days’ events. None the less, he was relieved to see that the people he called had actually showed up.

“Charlotte and Muldoon have offered their services for a few songs,” he said by way of explanation after James raised a questioning eyebrow at their presence.

“That was considerate of them,” James said, making it very clear that he was more grateful for John's consideration than for theirs.

“Yes, and I suppose you’ll want to touch base with them - go over the music they’ll need to know. Make sure we're all on the same page," he noticed that James' eyes were distracted - his gaze was directed at John's moving lips - he gave no signs of actually hearing what he was saying. John saw the exact moment that he decided they weren't yet at the point in their relationship where they could kiss in front of other people, as he tore his eyes away. John smiled to himself, just knowing that he wanted to was enough. "I’ll get everything set up.”

He gave James’ hand a brief squeeze before he headed off to get to work.

As John arranged the keyboard he'd be playing, he spared a glance at the group that had assembled across the room. It was a strange sight - James in conversation with these people whom he had known for so long. They listened intently as he explained to them a song's structure and gave them their cues. He grinned in satisfaction as Charlotte worked out a baseline to go along with James’ melody. Yes, it was a strange sight, and yet it seemed right that they should all be there together.

 

———

After he had gone over the basics of the music with Charlotte and Muldoon - the pair worked seamlessly as a rhythm section and picked the songs up with relative ease - James left them to find Dobbs who would be operating the recording equipment.

Dobbs, it turned out, was the nephew of some music producer who had once been quite successful in the music industry. When the uncle gave up the profession a few years back, for some new, no less prosperous career, he had left his recording equipment to the full disposal of his family members. The studio was set up in the basement of the uncle’s large home in Wandsworth.

“Thank you for doing this today,” he said to Dobbs, which merited him a brief grunt in acknowledgment. Dobbs was focused on adjusting something on the control board, and spared him little attention. James hesitated, he had no interest in talking to someone who didn't want to talk to him, especially a known wanker, but finally he went on, “John said there would be no charge for the recording, but I’d of course be obliged to offer you something for your time and space.”

“You know, man, no offense but I’m really not doing this for you. I’m doing it for Silver. Couldn’t really give two shits about what you want - just being honest. But Silver, he don’t ask for much,” and then he shrugged as if that explained everything.

James didn't entirely know what to make of this information, so he just repeated, “Well, thanks all the same.”

He was more than happy to make the taciturn interaction two-sided - but he was moved by a sudden curiosity. It occurred to him that all he knew of John was what he had learned from John himself - and some from observing how he interacted with his friends. He was itching to know more. “Would you tell me - why exactly you all would be willing to do all of this for John? It seems a lot to ask, is all.” He really didn't want to push the matter - still.

Without turning around to look at him or hesitating at all, he answered, “Because he’s the kinda guy who’d literally give his left leg to help a friend.” James was at a loss for how to decipher this odd joke.

“Oh?” was the only response that seemed appropriate in the moment.

Dobbs then fixed him with a somewhat annoyed look, “How long you known Silver?”

“Less than a week,” the information seemed wrong even to him - though he knew it was true.

“Less than a week, is it?” Dobbs seemed to consider him in a new light - whether it was more or less favorable was unclear to James. “Right. Then I’m sure you’ll find out what I mean when he’s ready for you to know what I mean.” And he went back to his work, turning his back on James completely to signal the end of the conversation.

———

James didn’t have much time to puzzle over the vague comment - he had far too much to occupy his mind already.

He worked on the final bit of tuning that his guitar needed, then looked up to find John's eyes on him from his place at the keyboard. “Are you ready for this?” he asked.

James took a look around the room at the group assembled. There was a time when he had dreams of something much like this; a band of musicians gathered to bring his songs to life. But he had given up that hope a long time ago, resigned to playing alone on street corners. The excitement that flowed through him in the reality of the moment was palpable.

“I’m ready,” he directed at John with a half grin. Then to the room at large, “Okay - John and I will start us off, and then you all know your cues - you'll come in on the second verse." Everyone nodded their readiness. "Dobbs - whenever you’re ready.”

As Dobbs called for the recording to start, James met John’s eyes one more time. He took one deep breath, and began to play.

James' guitar and John's keys started off soft and simple together. He smiled, then he closed his eyes and he began to sing.

_So, if you ever want something_  
_And you call, call_  
_Then I'll come running_  
_To fight, and I'll be at your door_  
_When there's nothing worth running for_

John’s voice joined in for the chorus. They had only actually sung together the once, and somehow they had worked together effortlessly. It was an exhilarating experience, and this one was none less so. John had learned most of the songs from the cd James gave him, and he created the harmonies and piano arrangements himself. James wondered if he would ever cease to be surprised by this man - he sincerely hoped not.

_When your mind's made up_  
_When your mind's made up_  
_There's no point trying to change it_

And when the drums and bass cued in - the song sounded fuller and more alive than James realized it ever could. He never would have sought out a backing band himself, eternally self-reliant and stubborn. But John had known. He had envisioned the entire damn thing. He must be some kind of savant, James mused.

_You see, you’re just like everyone_  
_When the shit falls_  
_All you wanna do is run away_  
_And hide all by yourself_  
_When you’re far from me, there's nothing else_

He spared a glance in Charlotte and Muldoon’s direction. They were getting more and more into the music as the song progressed. They played expertly. The sight and the sound of it was all the encouragement he needed - James continued passionately towards the crescendo, howling;

_When your mind's made up_  
_When your mind's made up_  
_There's no point even talking_

_When your mind's made up_  
_When your mind's made up_  
_There's no point trying to fight it_

Then - letting out one last wordless howl, he signaled for the percussion to play out, and finished alone in the decrescendo;

_So, if you ever want something_  
_And you call, call_  
_Then I'll come running_

Silence. James looked once more around the room to find three grinning faces directed at him.

“Well alright,” Dobbs was the one to break the silence. “You wrote that?” His face gave the impression of being reluctantly impressed, James observed, amused.

“I did.”

“Not bad, mate. Now let’s really get to work.”

———

They spent hours focused entirely on the music. Collaboration was a whole new beast that James was still adjusting to. He had a hard time letting go of control of any aspect of his songs, but had to finally admit to himself that Charlotte and Muldoon were actually gifted musicians and knew what they were talking about. They offered up ideas and arrangements that actually improved upon his own work, much to his irritation. It hadn’t been nearly so hard to listen to John’s input.

James was more than happy with the handful of tracks they had completed by the time it started to get dark, and he suggested that they break for dinner. Dobbs, Muldoon, and Charlotte ordered out for delivery. They had started discussing new ideas they had for their own band which had been inspired by what they'd done so far that day. James observed their easy camaraderie and partnership, and had a sudden flash of memory of being in the Hamilton’s parlor, discussing plans and ideas with that same ease all those years ago.

It hit him like a brick, as he realized he hadn’t spared Thomas and Miranda a single thought at all in the past couple of days. His mind had been so completely wrapped up in thoughts of John - of talking to him, singing with him, watching him, kissing him, god even just being in the same room as him - he thought of little else. He struggled with the revelation. He knew that what he had once had with Thomas and Miranda was over - there was no going back to that life - but part of him was always incapable of fully letting go. The sudden realization that he could function without them and without the pain of their absence, that John had brought on this new change, shook him to the core. He worried for the first time since they had kissed that he might be getting in over his head. He was letting thoughts of John overwhelm him. But god, did he really mind that much at all?

“Are you ready?” John had a natural talent for catching James when he was completely lost in his mind - sneaky little shit. The two of them decided to pick up fish and chips from a local shop, and John had gone off to retrieve their coats. He now favored a worried brow as he tried to read James’ expression.

James quickly adjusted his demeanor, fixing John with his most reassuring smile, “Yes, or course.”

He watched John’s brow soften slightly, though he still held some concern in his blue eyes. Evidently, James hadn't been as convincing as he'd hoped.  He wanted nothing more than to ease his mind, but he didn’t know how to do so - at least not with words.

Instead, he offered John his full attention, as he tucked that unruly curl behind his ear. John closed his eyes, finding some pleasure in the touch - James watched the worry slip completely away. It made his heart ache. He let his hand trace its way slowly down John’s cheek to his chin, then lightly tilted John’s face upward and graced him with a soft kiss. John exhaled into it, letting go of a breath that had been caught in his throat. His hands found their way to grip loosely on James’ neck - they were always so cool, the sensation against his own flushed skin was electrifying.

John parted his lips for him, and James' tongue was just beginning to explore when the sound of something crashing from a hundred miles away pulled him abruptly out of the embrace. Blinking back to reality, he tried to get a grasp on what had happened.

“Oh, fuck off,” he heard John say. James had a brief moment of confusion, before he realized that the words were directed at Muldoon who stood in the doorway of the next room, grinning.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said with a laugh. He picked up the cymbal he had dropped and moved off beyond the doorway, with a cheeky, "Carry on."

John turned back to look at James, and instantly began laughing.

“What’s so funny?” James asked, eyebrow arched high.

“You’re blushing!” John’s eyes were warm, which softened the tease somewhat.

Still, James always hated how easily his complexion gave him away. He tried to roll his eyes and turn away, but John moved his hands in time to catch his face. He still had a fond smile on his lips as he leaned in for one more short and sweet kiss.

Standing there, with his forehead pressed against James', he sighed and said, “I am completely starved. Let’s go.”

———

“So how’s Hal managing the shop, with you taking all of these days off?”

They had brought their meals to the path near the river. The Dobbs uncles’ house was in a reasonable walking distance from the Thames, and they were both eager for some time to themselves. It was a milder night than their previous evenings together, but they kept their scarves wrapped tight, and sat close on their bench, just the same.

  
“I think he’s a little too happy to see me gone, to be honest. I might start to take it personally,” James shook his head remembering how Hal had cheerfully wished him a good day as he rushed him out the door earlier that morning.

“So when you inevitably become a musical success story and move on to a life of glory and riches, Hal won’t be too put out?” John asked, grinning as he nibbled on his chips.

“Yes, in that inevitable situation, Hal will manage just fine,” he played along. “Actually, we employ Hal’s godson Billy when we need extra help in the shop. He’s a freelance carpenter, and has enough muscle to handle most of our shipments on his own. He worked with Hal today.”

“Hmmm, good. I like Hal. I’d hate to think he’d be lost without you.”

James knew that John was only joking around, but the idea of moving on from the comfort of his current situation with Hal wasn’t something he liked to think about. He knew that he wasn’t going to stay in that flat forever, and he really didn’t have any great need to work at that shop for even one more day. It was his uncle's calling, but he certainly never felt any great passion for it himself. Yet it was familiar - he had to hold on to that for a little while longer.

“And what about you? How do they survive without you at your work?”

“I’m not sure that they do,” John laughed. “I had to cash in on a favor to be here today, you know. I’d hoped covering all those shifts for my idiot co-workers would pay off eventually.”

James hummed in sympathy, “I think it’s a good thing that the only person I have to work with is Hal. I wouldn’t last one day working with ‘idiot co-workers.’ I struggle with the days that Billy’s around - and he’s really not even that bad.”

“You do have an impressively low tolerance for other people,” John nudged James’ arm with his elbow, “present company excluded, I hope.”

James gave him a sideways look, “I don’t know about you, but I don’t generally go around kissing people I have no tolerance for.”

John wrinkled his nose at him, “Fair enough.”

A few minutes passed where they simply sat enjoying their food, the view of the river, and each others presence.

As John set aside his empty container, he turned toward James and said, “You know that what you’re doing today is really, _really_ good, right?”

James made a noncommittal grunt in acknowledgment, but said nothing.

“I’m serious. People need to hear what you’re doing," his eyes were wide and earnest.

Setting aside his own near empty container, so that he could give John his full attention, he chose his words with some care, “John, you know I really appreciate what you’ve done for me today. Truly. I didn’t know the songs could sound like that. You’ve elevated them in every way,” He paused to find John’s eyes. They were still earnest, but that old worry was beginning to creep in. James went on, “But I have been doing this music thing for a long fucking time. In this business, most people simply don't make it. Failure is inevitable. But if all I get out of this is one really great day spent making music with you, it will be worth it. - Because if people haven’t listened by now, I don’t expect that to change. But that’s okay. I’ll always make music - but it’s not for them.”

It was getting increasingly more difficult to make out John's features in the twilight, but he noted the intensely furrowed brows. James couldn’t hold his gaze, and turned his own back toward the river.

“Nothing is inevitable,” John spoke softly at first, but after a measured beat he continued on with a renewed optimism. “Besides, you didn’t have me before.” James could hear the smile in his voice.

“Well, you’re right about that, at least,” he said, fighting a grin.

“I’m always right. You should know that by now.”

———

_And we'll walk down the avenue again_  
_And we'll sing all the songs from way back when_  
_And we'll walk down the avenue again and the healing has begun_

At some point during the following couple of hours in the recording studio, the subject of music heroes came up. It was then that James and Muldoon discovered that they had attended the same Van Morrison concert several years earlier. They talked for a while about how influential his music had been to both of them in their formative years, and how inspiring it was to see him performing live. Before they knew it, they were fooling around with playing one of his songs - everyone else in the room watched and listened, happy enough to take a break.

John’s expression was verging on ecstatic, James noticed. He could imagine that the sight of James getting on so well with his best friend was fascinating to him.

“Alright, hold on,” John eventually interrupted, “this is too good not to be recording.” And after only minimal persuasion, including a pitiful, yet effective, attempt at puppy-dog eyes, James agreed.

It was unpolished and imperfect, but possibly the most fun that the ragtag group of musicians had had all day.

_And we'll walk down the avenue in style_  
_And we'll walk down the avenue and we'll smile_  
_And we'll say "Baby, ain't it all worthwhile?" when the healing has begun_

“I think we’ve got enough here for a solid e.p.” Dobbs said, as they wrapped up late that night.

John was standing next to James as they listened to a playback of the recordings - their arms brushed at their sides. James felt him look up at him, and met his eyes. “Honestly, I don’t think you could stay unknown if you tried.” James simply smiled and looked away. Sometimes he felt as if he could look into those eyes forever, and others he became so overwhelmed that he couldn’t handle more than a brief glimpse into their blue depths.

  
“I’ll do some final mixes for you, I should have it all ready for you in a couple of days,” Dobbs said, pleasantly enough. He didn't seem to be nearly as put out by the idea as he had been that morning.

“I personally can’t wait to listen to it all finished,” Charlotte said, smiling through a yawn.

It was only then that James remembered that Charlotte had only planned on being there for a few hours, but at some point she had decided to stick around for the duration of the recording. He looked over at Muldoon resting contentedly on the nearby couch. James wasn't sure how he could possibly express his gratitude, but endeavored to try, “I can’t thank you all enough. You didn’t have to be here today, I really appreciate it. I hope I can repay you all someday.”

John gave him a playful nudge, “I almost don’t recognize you when you’re being this nice,” to which James snorted. “No, I could get used to it.”

_We're gonna make music underneath the stars_  
_We're gonna play to the violin and the two guitars_  
_We're gonna sit there and play for hours and hours when the healing has begun_

It was after midnight when James finally stepped out into the cool night air to load his things in the car. John was still inside saying his goodbyes. He smiled to himself, they had already agreed to get together the next day before John had to work a late night shift. For some reason, this man who seemed in no short supply of friends wanted to spend all of his free time with him. Some things were simply beyond reason.

He took his phone out of his pocket, and powered it on - he had switched it off during the recording, though he doubted anyone would have tried to contact him anyway. On most days this would have been true - with the occasional exception of Hal inquiring about their grocery stock back at the flat or maybe some minor work issues. Therefore he was surprised to see an alert for a missed call and voicemail from an unknown number.

He checked to see if John was at the door yet, but caught no sight of him, so he leaned against the boot of his car to listen to the message.

As soon as the voice on the phone began to speak his stomach dropped like a lead weight. He hadn’t heard the once so familiar voice in nearly two years.

“Hello James,” Miranda said, “I’m sorry - I know you probably don’t want to hear from me - from us. You made that pretty clear. But I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to talk to you.” She paused for a moment - James could hear his own heart beating in his eardrums. “I’m back in England for a little while. Something for work - anyway - I hope that you’ll see me while I’m here. Or at least call. I just want to know that you’re doing okay. Please, James. Call me.”

The message ended. He stood frozen with the phone still held to his ear. The shock of the call had him paralyzed and beyond coherent thought.

There was no telling how long he stood there, but he started when he registered the sound of distant voices laughing. Slowly, he forced himself into movement. He glanced over his shoulder toward the front door of the house. John was there with his back turned to him as he said his goodbyes to Dobbs.

_John._

Should he tell John about the call? Ask his advice on how to handle the situation? Would it hurt him to know that this person from his past was reaching out to him again? He didn’t even know yet what his own feelings were, how could he expect John to make sense of any of it?

He turned slowly around again and attempted to get his emotions under control. He took a few steadying breaths, then walked to the driver’s door. John all but bounced to the door opposite him, smiling the whole way.

“I’d say today was an unprecedented success, wouldn’t you?” John beamed.

His pure elation was in complete opposition to how James felt in that moment - completely numb. 

No, he couldn’t tell him. Not tonight. Not when he was like this. He'd get through the rest of the night and figure it out in the morning.

James tried out what he hoped was a pleasant smile, but it felt wrong even to him, so he moved to get in the car before John could notice. He thanked god or whoever that the dark night made it harder for John to see.

He made some kind of strained effort to participate in their conversation as they drove through the night. However, he let John do most of the talking. That wasn’t too far out of the ordinary, and he hoped distantly that John couldn’t tell how far away he really was. When he thought back on the car ride later that night, he would be distressed to realize he didn’t remember a single detail of what they had talked about at all.

So lost in his clouded mind, he didn't even think when he pulled the vehicle to a stop in front of John’s flat. He heard himself say, “Goodnight, John,” without so much as a glance in his direction. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw John flinch. He hadn’t let himself worry about what had been on John’s mind up to that moment, though he thought vaguely that he might have wanted to invite him in. James wasn't sure of much in that moment, but he knew he was not in any state for such things. So he cut him off before he had a chance to offer. He felt a sudden guilt begin to eclipse his detachment. After a moment too long had passed, he turned to finally look at John clearly. It was the first time since he had listened to Miranda’s message that he could find the strength.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to smile reassuringly, “I think I’m just exhausted.”

John’s eyes didn’t let up on the worry and hurt that James’ abrupt dismissal had brought on. At least not enough to ease James’ guilt. His counterfeit smile faltered, then fell away completely. He struggled for something to say, but no words came to him.

Finally, John blinked - freeing James of his scrutiny. His eyes landed on James’ hand which rested on the gearshift. He placed his own hand on top of it, and gave it a light squeeze, “Goodnight, then,” he said softly.

Then without meeting James’ eyes, he let himself out without a backward glance.

\-----

_And we’ll walk down the avenue again,_  
_When the healing has begun._

  
\----------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY! But with four chapters to go, you had to know it wasn't going to be 100% fluffy! >:)
> 
> So basically all of Glen Hansard’s lyrics sound like they’re about/for Flint, which means that James is actually writing all of these songs to himself because of his own self-loathing. It’s fine, I’m fine/.
> 
> Their first recording:  
> [ When Your Mind's Made Up by Glen Hansard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EToNLkqa_KE)
> 
> The song they cover:  
> [ And the Healing Has Begun by Van Morrison](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ocn_gSX94U)  
> [ Glen Hansard's cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nbkd--e1O3I), which is about three minutes shorter than the original, but missing some great lines.  
> (Glen has done really fun full band versions of this live, but I didn't find a video I liked enough to put here). 
> 
> Yeah, so I intended to post this chapter three days ago, but every time I sat down to edit the final draft I got really frustrated with it. I'd say, "I think we need some time apart. Let's try again tomorrow." But finally it's here. I think it's okay. Hope you enjoyed it despite my frustrations!


	11. these days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how to summarize this chapter? ? ? 
> 
> a lot of worry followed by a lot of talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've managed to post this chapter before the new year! (In my timezone anyway). Didn't know if I could do it. 
> 
> You guys. Do you even know the struggle? I did some major draft editing of this chapter within ao3 like three weeks ago (it needed it) and I was almost ready to publish, and my browser crashed before I could save any of it! I lost all of that work and I had to do it all over and I wanted to cry. It was my own fault for being an idiot and not saving it periodically, but I was on a roll. Won't happen again, I can damn well assure you that. So anyway - this was supposed to be published way sooner, but I was too frustrated by that terrible thing that happened. And every time I thought about starting again I couldn't focus. Hopefully it turned out at least a little bit as good as the first time. Okay, I'm gonna just let you read the chapter now, bye.
> 
> OH, and I should maybe give some trigger warnings for mentions of homophobia and violence in this chapter.

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Eleven - These Days

 

—————————————

_Take score, even playing fields, this game_  
_I know when all's said we're the same_  
_If I could I would leave it all be_  
_No chance to move backwards and see_

John lay awake watching the moonlight play with shadows on the ceiling. He had put on a familiar record in hopes that the familiar comfort of the songs would distract him from his troubled thoughts. It wasn't working.

After an eternity of letting his mind lead him from one awful thought to the next, he decided to try and be productive in his restless state. He focused his thoughts more purposefully on what was troubling him. He tried to understand what had just happened between him and James. Replaying the days’ events, he couldn’t for the life of him pinpoint where things had gone wrong. A hollow lump rested in the pit of his stomach that wouldn’t ease up.

Everything had been fine - better than fine. James was practically glowing while they listened to the recordings. John could barely keep his eyes off of him. He had closed his eyes and smiled to himself, satisfied in what they had accomplished. To put it simply, he was beautiful. John had a notion that he might not be able to keep his hands off of the man once he had him alone again.

But John noticed the change soon after they left. He found that he had to practically pull words out of James’ mouth whenever he asked him a question. It had never taken that much effort to talk to him - at least not since that night when they first met. But tonight, even when James managed to speak in the car, he didn’t seem to be conscious of what he was saying at all. Mostly he kept to curt one word responses. John had tried not to take it personally. It had been a long day, after all. Maybe he was simply past the point of exhaustion - which would be understandable. But deep down, John knew it was more than that. He was unreachable. He was certain that James hadn’t even heard him when he finally found the nerve to ask, "Where are you?" If he did hear it, he made no reply.

And then his fears were confirmed. When they had pulled up to John's place, James had barely put the car in park before cutting John off mid-sentence with that cold goodbye.  John couldn’t even fully remember what he had been saying at the time - it wasn’t important anymore. But James’ words had stung worse than if James had physically struck him. It wasn’t the words themselves - it was in his manner. It was the way he had completely shut down during the long car ride. And how he had avoided looking directly at him, or even vaguely in his direction at all, up until the last minute. John had tried to ignore the growing unease in his gut, but by the end he was nearly sick about it. He couldn’t help the thought “ _What did I do? God, what did I do?”_ from playing over in his head.

Finally James had come back to him, in at least some small way. John could see it in his eyes, how they refocused as he finally gave John his attention. “I’m sorry. I think I’m just exhausted.” A half-hearted excuse. More than anything John was saddened by it. It broke his heart to see him close off after everything they’d shared.

He had been at a loss for how to respond. So he didn’t handle it at all. He said goodbye. And he left. He didn't look back. He didn't know want to know what he would see if he did.

It was probably the wrong choice. He should have stayed. He should have tried to discover the source of the problem. He always ran away too easily. He let things fade away. Honestly, he was surprised he didn't expect it from the start.

Sighing deeply, he turned on to his side and pulled a blanket up over his head. He tried once again to let the music saturate his mind. These toxic thoughts weren't helping anything.

  
_Take it all in stride_  
_Speak, don't confide_  
_We barely had a case_

_It's done before we try_  
_Stop and end by night_  
_A desert in your face_

“Fuck,” he breathed, and he pushed the blanket all the way back off. Sitting up with a huff, he rubbed his eyes, then reached for the crutch resting at the bottom of his bed. He made his way to the kitchen to fill up a glass of water. The cool liquid traveled down his esophagus, providing a calming sensation which he used to refocus his thoughts.

He couldn’t deny that there was a connection between James and himself - one that he hadn’t felt with anyone before. They hadn’t even known each other a week yet, but he knew in his gut that he couldn’t let this - whatever _this_ was - slip away. He couldn’t let James shut him out. _This_ was something worth fighting for. Once the thought struck, John was floored by it.

John was always the one to shut people out. Whenever somebody started to actually get close, he found himself unconsciously working toward self-destruction.  He never even imagined what it must feel like to be on the other side of that equation. It was jarring.

With something verging on understanding, he made a decision. He would call James in the morning. He was willing to put in the effort to see this thing through. It was a frightening and exhilarating revelation, and he held firm to it.

The clock on the stove blinked as it changed to 3:04, and it elicited an immediate yawn. It had been a long day and a trying night. Funny how a troubled mind could keep you up when your body was so desperate for rest.

He made his way languidly back to his bed, feeling a little more at ease now that he had a plan of sorts. As he stretched out on his bed, another yawn reached every inch of his body. He drifted off to sleep before the thought to turn off the music ever had a chance to register in his head.

_Yet again we're the only ones_  
_No surprise, this is often how it's done_  
_Lately it's about all I can take_  
_I will move and mend and mold this break_

———

James didn't sleep for more than ten minutes at a time. And when he did sleep it was far from restful. He tossed and turned for a while, but it didn't take long before he gave up all hope of finding peace that night. He sat up and the storm of anxiety took full hold of his mind. When he wasn’t torturing himself with imagined scenarios of a reunion with Miranda, and possibly even Thomas - all ending in bitter words and heartache - he was lamenting how awful he had been to John.

John, who had been nothing but kind and supportive all day, who had helped him to see that there was still actual goodness in this world. And he had hurt him. The look of hurt in his eyes as he left the car haunted him. He wouldn’t blame John if he never wanted to see him again. He deserved better anyway.

He was plagued by an uneasy mind, and there was no help for it. He tried to drown his worries in scotch, but his stomach rejected the idea. He tried to play music to drown out his thoughts - but every lyric reminded him of the people he had failed. He considered playing classical music as he sometimes did when he didn't want the distraction of words, but he knew that it would only remind him of John. Just the idea of it made his heart ache.

So James found himself sitting silently on the floor by his window, with his back stiff straight against the wall, as the first signs of sunrise began to illuminate the room.

The closest thing to a decision made over the course of all those hours was that he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing anyone at all - he would simply confine himself to this room for the foreseeable future. Every scene he imagined with Miranda ended in further discord. The very idea that Thomas might be there too nearly sent him into a genuine panic attack. If he saw John, he didn't know if he'd even be able to meet his eyes. He was so ashamed of how he had handled things, what could he possibly say to make it right? He honestly didn’t even think he could handle seeing Hal at that moment - though he realized there was really no way he could avoid it. You couldn't get away with locking yourself in your room unnoticed when you shared both a home and a workplace.

Still, he sat immobile.

He heard the first signs of Hal’s rustling down the hallway as he prepared the coffee. He pictured Hal’s movement around the kitchen as he listened to every clattered dish and every turn of the faucet - it was a temporary distraction, but any distraction was welcome.

It was the sound of a phone vibrating on the table next to him that finally pulled him out of his reverie. It was wholly unexpected. Had he forgotten that he had set an alarm? Who could possibly be calling him at this hour?

His arm moved slow like honey as he reached for the device.

_John_

He read the name, but it didn’t fully register. It was the last thing he had expected to see in that moment. He didn’t intentionally ignore the call - but he was so caught off guard that it didn’t even occur to him to answer. When the buzzing stopped, he stared blankly at the device as if it were some foreign object. It buzzed once more, alerting him that John had left a message.

James swallowed heavily, trying to grasp for some lingering inner strength, and braced himself for whatever he was about to hear.

“So it’s half seven and I’m never up at this hour - unless I haven’t gone to sleep yet. But that’s not what’s happening here. I slept. I slept on it and I thought about last night. I still don’t really know what to think about last night …. but I - I hope you’ll still meet me for lunch? … If I did something, please tell me. I don’t want there to be any miscommunication between us. Call me. I need to know everything’s okay.”

There was a short breath of hesitation before John disconnected.

Everything in him had been expecting John to shut him out - to say, "Hey thanks for the good times, but let's just move on, this clearly isn't working." But, this? Something like hope began to thaw out his numb limbs. He felt a tingling that began in his fingers and his toes and traveled through his veins. As feeling returned, he slowly rose up, his joints audibly cracked as they were put to use after so much time spent frozen on the cold floor.

  
He replayed John’s words over in his head. _He thought he did something wrong?_ A fresh wave of self-loathing washed over him. But John still wanted to see him. Would he ever cease to surprise him?

He paced the length of the room a couple of times, thinking of what his next step should be. Then, finally growing impatient with his own indecision, James called John back. He dialed fast before he could change his mind.

“Hello?” came John’s voice, after only one ring.

James hadn’t even thought about what he was going to say, didn’t want to give himself a chance to back out of making the call. He hesitated.

“James? Are you there?”

“Yes,” he choked out. His voice was rough from disuse and lack of sleep.

“Are - are you okay?”

James swallowed down his welling emotions. “Yes,” he managed.

“Can I see you today?”

He sounded so unsure. It was an odd tone to hear in his voice. James hated it. He cleared his throat, and said as evenly as he could, “The place we talked about? I’ll meet you at noon?”

An exhale from across the line, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

“Yes, I’ll see you.”

He was surprised to see that his hand was steady as he set his phone back down on the table. One deep breath in, followed by a long exhale, and James was feeling just a little more ready for whatever was to come.

What would he say to John when he saw him? He had to just be straight with him, he owed him that much. And then John could decide for himself if it was more baggage than he was willing to deal with. But James wouldn't make the decision for him.

————

James arrived at the cafe nearly fifteen minutes early. He had it in his head that he might be better prepared if he had time to get his bearings before John arrived. Therefore, he was surprised when he saw John clearly through the floor to ceiling glass window that made up the cafe’s front. His back was turned, but there was no mistaking those telltale curls - even when he had them pulled back into a sloppy ponytail at the base of his skull.

He allowed himself a moment to observe John through the window. He had his jacket draped over the chair, but was bundled up in a heavy jumper and a scarf. He fidgeted with his coffee cup - possibly because of nerves, but James suspected he was simply trying to keep his hands warm. He smiled to himself. It was somehow comforting to think that there were already quirks of John's that were so familiar to him. The fact that he was always subconsciously looking for ways to keep warm hadn't gone unnoticed to James.

Feeling a little more at ease, James steeled himself against whatever was to come, and he entered the cafe. John was leaning forward on the table with both elbows as he continued to turn the cup around over and over between his hands. He seemed to be deep in thought, a slight crease between his brow. He lifted the cup to his lips, but it was then that he seemed to sense the lurking presence in the doorway to his right. He abruptly set the cup back down as he looked up at James.

A small smile formed on James' face, and he was relieved that it came so naturally. Sometime between when he had decided to tell John the truth and seeing him sitting there before him, he had abandoned much of his apprehensions. It was an odd feeling of laissez faire, he had given himself over to whatever fate would bring in this moment.

“Hey,” John said with a small crooked smile.

“Hey,” James returned, as he took the seat opposite him.

“You getting a coffee? You have to order at the counter.”

“Ah, no. Not just now.”

“It’s really good coffee, you should definitely get some, fully recommended” he was smiling, but there was a hesitation in it, "Some of the sandwiches look pretty good, too -" He was stalling. It was another one of John's charming quirks that James hadn't consciously realized he noticed. John rambled when he was nervous. James was fascinated, but didn't allow himself to be distracted by it.

“I’m sorry, John.” He waited for John’s eyes to meet his, then he said it again, “I’m sorry.”

John nodded, then looked down at his coffee. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“It was nothing you did,” James assured him quickly. John’s shoulders relaxed visibly. He really had thought it was him. James wanted to reach out - to take his hand - to offer some physical comfort - but he held back. With a sigh he got on with it, “Just before we left last night, I had a message - a voicemail,” he paused for just a moment, “It was from Miranda.”

“Miranda?” It wasn’t a question of whom he was talking about, of course he remembered. But he was clearly not expecting this.

“She’s in town. She says she wants to see me," James paused momentarily. He wanted to be sure he explained it properly. "Hearing her voice again - it knocked me off center. I truly never expected to hear it again. So hearing her say - that she wanted to see me. I was at a complete loss. It made my head spin. So - in the moment - I didn’t think I could tell you. It actually made some kind of sense that I shouldn't tell you at the time. But I can't justify it now, so I won't try. But I will say that I’m sorry that I let you think it was something you had done. I hate myself for that.”

John had listened patiently, his eyes intent, but otherwise unreadable. When James finished, John leaned forward once more, making sure that he had James' full attention. “It’s no use hating yourself. And I accept your apology.” He paused to make sure that James heard him. James nodded slightly, which John took as a sign that he could go on, “So when are you going to see her?”

“When - ? I’m not - I mean I haven’t called her back - “ he stammered, caught off guard. John placed a hand on his which stopped him short. It was warm from holding the coffee cup, which was a shock in itself. He let his own hand close around it and took what comfort he could from it.

“James. You should go to see her.” James was focusing entirely on keeping his breathing even. Without warning, their roles had switched and he was the one who was struggling with fidgets and rambling. “Maybe it’s not my place to say, but it seems pretty clear to me that things were left unresolved there. I can see it tearing you apart. So for whatever it's worth, I think you should call her.”

“I’m considering it,” James said at last, “once I figure out what the fuck I could possibly say.” He was looking resolutely at his own hand, which was still clasping John's.

“Honesty seems to be working out for you, maybe start there” John suggested.

James flicked his eyes up in time to catch the end of a smile. He wished he had been paying attention to see the whole thing. He gave John his own smile - well maybe it was more of a grimace, but it was something, “You know, I think I could use that coffee after all.”

He placed his order at the counter, then turned to look back at John as he waited for his drink. John had his attention on the large chalk menu board mounted on the opposite wall, but his eyes were unfocused. James watched his hands as they played absently with the knit hat that rested on his lap. He was clearly struggling with some inner turmoil of his own. Maybe the horrendous ending to their previous night wasn't the only thing troubling him after all. 

When James returned with his coffee, he wasted no time in asking, “What is it?” He was done with drawing out complications.

John dropped his hat, and leaned his elbows on the table again. “Well, as I think we agreed before, honesty is the key to everything. And I thought a lot last night about it, too. I thought about how I wished you had been honest with me about what happened, sure. But I also thought about how honesty is a two way street. And, well, it’s not that I haven’t been honest with you, exactly. But there are things that I haven’t told you yet. It’s just not that easy for me to talk about it -“ He was rambling again. James listened with a mixture of fascination and apprehension.

Finally he couldn’t bear the stalling, so he interrupted as gently as he could, “John, you can just tell me. After everything we’ve - well, I hope you know that you can tell me anything.”

“Okay,” he took a deep breath. The cafe had become crowded with a lunch rush, so the din of the surrounding conversations permeated the room. John moved in closer before going on, “The thing is, this is just a really fucking awkward conversation to have. You know, it's not that it's this great big secret - but if it doesn't just come up naturally, why bring it up at all? And I guess - making it hard to notice has become almost second-nature. Anyway, I just thought I should tell you, so that there's no weird surprises later on, that I have a prosthetic leg.” James couldn't imagine what expression his face was showing as John studied him for that brief moment. He looked him over swiftly, trying to read him, then went on before James could even think about getting a word in. “It happened years ago, and I’ve learned to cope quite well. They’ve come a long way with prosthetics - you wouldn’t know unless you're looking for it. At least that's what people tell me -”

James would be lying if he said it wasn't a bit of a shock. It wasn't that he thought it was any horrible thing - far from it - it was just that it was not at all what he had been expecting. Who would? But then Dobbs’ words came back to him, “He’s the kind of guy who would literally give his left leg to help a friend.” James had thought it an odd joke at the time. Apparently it had been the furthest thing from a joke. He still wondered at the full meaning of that statement. He also remembered Dobbs saying something to the effect of "He'll tell you when he's ready." Apparently this was that time.  

John was still talking like a stream of consciousness, leaving no opening for him to get a word in, “Like I said, this is always a weird conversation. People don’t know how to react when they learn that someone they thought they knew is a secret invalid. You don’t have to - ”

“Stop,” James had to put an end to this, John was floundering on the verge of self-deprecation. John instantly quieted and met his gaze. “Thank you. For trusting me. And you know you’re not an invalid, John.”

“Yeah,” he blinked, breaking the eye contact. “Yeah, I know.” He took a deep breath. “I suppose you want to know how it happened?”

“Only if you want to tell me,” James said gently.

John took a moment to think it over. James watched as he furrowed his brows, and bit his lip in indecision. Then he glanced back over his shoulder out of the large window into the clear day. James was sipping his coffee when John turned back to him.

“I want to tell you. But not here.”

———

It was a short walk to Greenwich Park. They traveled most of it with very little conversation.

The park was far less populated than it got in the warmer seasons. James tended to avoid this area in the summer - there were tourists and picnics everywhere. He found it much more appealing with the nearly bare trees, the empty paths, and the clear crisp air, even if it was extremely cold. He was also happy to be out of the cacophony of the small cafe. It felt like he and John had the park to themselves, though every so often a jogger or a dog walker would pass them by - they paid them little mind.

Finally, after a particularly long quiet stretch, John broke the silence, "I think the best thing for it is to just get it out. You know? It happened so long ago. It really is in my past, I've moved on with my life. So you don't need to feel bad or upset or anything at all. But I just want to be honest with you. So I'll tell it to you straight."

"I think that's a good idea."

He took only a short moment longer to gather his thoughts, then he began to tell his story.

“Okay. I had just turned seventeen. I was living in a really shitty foster situation. It’s harder to find a home to take you when you’re older, you know. Technically you could say we were lucky to have been placed in a home at all. I say 'we' - I mean myself and Muldoon. He was in the system, too. That’s how we met. We had been stuck in this house with this couple, a brute of a man, though he was rarely home, and a disaster of a woman who mostly locked herself in her bedroom for days and paid us no attention. They were far from nurturing guardians, but circumstance had taught us to fend for ourselves at a young age. We were happier that way. We even had a countdown. Once we turned eighteen we would be free to leave and live legally on our own. Muldoon is a few months older, so he'd be free first. Personally, I had hopes of going somewhere far away to Uni. I wanted to study music, of course. I think I mentioned that before. The dream of it was what motivated me to get through all of the shit in those days. That, and my new friendship with Muldoon. We helped each other in a lot of ways back then.

“It seems so strange to think about now - because now it seems like we've always known each other. But Muldoon and I had only actually known each other for about a year at this point. I had a girlfriend in school - I think even loved her. Madi was her name. Honestly though, she was too good for me. I was a fucking disaster back then. Well more of a disaster than I am now, if you can believe it. She put up with a lot of shit. And when I started to act on some of my - curiosities - she wisely broke it off. Muldoon was very open about being gay. I think he had dealt with so much in his life, he just didn't see the point in hiding it. So when I came to him with questions, he was happy enough to help.” He smiled ruefully. “We were never really anything more than friends. But we were young, just discovering who we were. We were two boys who liked boys who lived under the same roof. So we had some fun from time to time. And then everything went to hell.

“It all happened very quickly. At least that's how it seems in memory. Muldoon and I were in the living room - we were fooling around on the couch, nothing too serious. We were expecting to have the place to ourselves, as we did on most weekends. Or rather - the woman was always home but no threat of venturing out of the bedroom. If she did, I doubt she would have glanced in our direction. But that hateful man - he came home early that night. I can still remember the stench of liquor that hung around him like a fog. When he saw us, he lost his mind. He pulled Muldoon off of me. He threw him up against the wall. I was in such a shock, it was like I was hearing him bellow from some great distance - every curse and slur you can think of. I watched detached as he began to hit him. Muldoon tried to fight back - but he was too stunned and the man was too enraged. I remember thinking dumbly, _why won't he turn around? When will he come for me too?_ His drunk ass only had the attention span for one of us at a time. It wasn't until I heard the thud of Muldoon's head hitting hard against the wall that something finally snapped. I had been frozen until suddenly I was moving without thinking. I grabbed the nearest heavy object I could find - it was the iron shovel from the fireplace set. I aimed for his head. He’d had his hands around Muldoon’s throat. When he dropped him, he fell limp to the floor. He had lost consciousness - but in that moment I thought he had killed him. I went into a rage. The man was already staggering, he was bleeding from a head wound. I don’t have a clear memory of what happened next. It's a blur of strikes and blows and blood. Even drunk and injured he was strong, but I fought back with everything I had. I would have killed him if I could. I know it. But the next thing I knew, I was screaming - a white hot pain shot through my leg. He’d grabbed the same shovel I dropped and swung at my legs. After I went down - he didn’t let up. I was in and out of consciousness for a while. But my next clear memory is of waking up at the hospital, one limb short.”

At some point during this story, they had taken a seat on a park bench, though James only vaguely remembered doing so; he had been so absorbed in John’s tale. John was looking at something in the distance, but his eyes were unfocused. James let him have that minute to breath. He hadn't gotten especially worked up as he recounted the events from so many years ago, but James knew it likely wasn't something he enjoyed thinking about often. Eventually though, he thought he should probably help him out of whatever dark memories he was walking through, so he asked the first question that came to his mind.

“And what happened to the man?”

John looked at him, as if only just remembering James was there. He blinked a few times as he rejoined the present. “Ah - well Muldoon came to. While we were occupied with beating the holy hell out of each other in a blind rage - Muldoon had the sense to slip away and call 999. The police came and arrested him. I only saw him one more time - in the courtroom. But that was the end of it. I spent the rest of my seventeenth year and then some in rehabilitation therapy. Had to forfeit any hopes of going to university. But at least I got out of foster care early.” He ended with a sardonic grin.

“It’s good that you and Muldoon have stayed so close,” James said, trying his luck at a positive. It sounded like a silly statement when he said it out loud, after everything he had just heard. But John didn't seem to think so.

“Well you don’t go through something like that with someone and forget about it. But if I’m being honest, I resented him for a while. All he wanted to do was help me - but it felt to me like he was trying to pay off some debt. It felt wrong. I was the one who had frozen while he was being strangled to death. I was the one who didn’t have the sense to call for help. It was my own idiocy that almost got me killed - that lost my leg. At least that's how I saw it at the time. It took me a long time and a lot of therapy to get past that toxic mindset. To stop blaming myself. The only person to blame in all of this is that horrible man. And I had to move past hating him. If I lingered on resentment I would have fallen into a hateful life myself. I chose a different course.”

“This is the darkness you mentioned before? After I told you what I did to Ashe?”

“Oh, I think it's safe to sat that was my darkest moment. Certainly not the only dark moment, but easily the worst of it. I like to think I’ve evolved past it. But I know I’m capable of going to that place again. If it came down to it.”

James nodded his understanding, and said softly, “So am I.”

“Whew,” John let out an exaggerated breath, and slumped back on the bench. “Well there it is. Now you know it all. I’ve been dreading this conversation. This is usually the part where people start to plot their escape.”

“Don't be absurd,” James said with a snort. “I'm clearly not the one here with any reason to escape. Actually, I still don't understand why you continue to put up with me.”

John apparently found this confession amusing - or if not amusing, something worth smiling about. He turned himself on the bench so that he could look more directly at James, then lifted one hand to cup his cheek. His thumb brushed absently against James lip, which sent a pleasant shiver down his spine and he closed his eyes. He felt a rush of heat where John planted a soft kiss on his brow, then his cheek, and finally his lips. James leaned into it, but they kept it short and sweet. When they pulled apart, John was still smiling fondly at him. "Let's just agree that we're both kind of a mess, and that doesn't necessarily have to be a bad thing. We can be works in progress together. Sound good?"

James was bewildered. After John had just relived the most gruesome events that any person could endure, he sat there smiling. Maybe it was somewhat more restrained than usual, but it was a smile just the same. He felt the corner of his lip twitch up involuntarily as he said, "Sounds good."

John's hand had moved to rest on James' neck, and his eyes suddenly caught on his own wrist. James instantly missed the weight of his hand as John pulled it away to look at his watch. "Shit," James heard him say under his breath. John raised his eyes back to him, something like regret forming in the creases around his eyes.

“I wish I could afford to skip work today,” he sighed. “I really should go. But god, if I could, I would stay here with you all day.”

James certainly could relate. Just about every minute spent with John was a refreshing change of pace. Even the heavy moments like this morning were refreshing in their novelty. But he knew they'd have to part eventually, so he said, “It’s okay. I’ve got to work too. Piano benches don’t fix themselves.”

He earned a warm smile with that comment, “I’d nearly forgotten about it! When will you have it ready?”

“Not long now. I’ll have Billy drop it off with the company van when it’s ready.”

“Really? I can come get it myself, it's no trouble.”

"That's just bad business. Besides, Billy will be hurt if I take the work away from him.”

“Well if it’s that important to him,” John conceded.

They walked slower than they should have as they made their way out of the park. They both had places to be, but they had come to an unspoken agreement that it would be worth being late if it meant prolonging their time together now. James had a feeling it might be a little while before he saw John again, though he couldn't quite tell where it was coming from. So he took the opportunity to remember everything about these last minutes. James walked with his hands stuffed deep in his pocket, taking every opportunity he could to look sideways at John walking beside him. His nose had turned slightly red in the cold, and his breath formed a small cloud whenever he exhaled. James was momentarily surprised when he felt John slip his arm through the crook of his own, but didn't comment on it. He couldn't remember contentment like he felt walking arm-in-arm with John in that moment, however brief that moment was.

As they rounded the estate of the National Maritime Museum on the outskirts of the park, James spotted the large sculpture of the newly famous ship-in-a-bottle sculpture that resided on the lawn. He had seen it many times before, but this time it looked different in his eyes. He smiled remembering John’s dreams of piracy. “You know, if you stick a big black flag on that thing, it could be your pirate ship,” he teased.

John squinted up at it and shook his head, “Oh no, that one there is far too classy. My ship has been through some real shit. Nothing so glamorous.”

And he laughed. James was surprised by the relief that hearing it conjured. It was the first real laugh he had heard from him all day.

James couldn’t contain his own smile as he asked, “Yeah? What kind of shit?”

“Well,” John squinted as he racked his brain for the best example, "It was absolutely pummeled by a Spanish warship, for one. That one came to me when I was living in Spain, actually. That poor ship did not recover easily from that catastrophe.”

“You couldn’t talk your way out of that, I suppose?”

“Claro, yo he intentado. Pero no.”

James chuckled, “You should speak in Spanish more often.”

“And what should I say?” he asked grinning.

“Well I can't understand you anyway, so I suppose you could say whatever you like.”

John's smile softened a little, he took a brief moment of reflection before he said, “Quiero estar contigo.”

James waited for a translation to come. He knew enough to understand that John wanted something, but the rest was just syllables. “Will you tell me what that means?”

“No. Well, maybe I’ll tell you some other time.”

James accompanied John all the way to the train station. They stopped just outside of the entrance, the open doorway threatened to take John away.

“This is where I leave you,” John said softly, and he sounded truly regretful.

James couldn’t think of a proper way to say goodbye. They had talked so easily as they walked, but now that it came time to part he forgot how to speak. John saved him the trouble by asking him the last thing he expected to hear in that moment.

“Will you call Miranda?”

It wasn't until that moment that he realized that at some point that day, he had subconsciously decided that he would. But now that he was faced with the reality of that decision, it seemed an insurmountable decision to have made. How could he have made that choice without consulting his better senses. There was encouragement in John's eyes though, so he took what he could from that and he nodded.

“Good. I think that’s really good. And, it might not be my place to say, but I hope you decide go to see her too. I really think it will be good for you. For all of you. Anyway - ” He placed his hands just below James’ jawline, “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you're ready.”

He placed a soft kiss on James’ forehead - he had to lift his chin up high to reach and James was momentarily nuzzled in his scarf.

John stepped back and smiled,  “See you around.”

As he took a few more backward steps, he placed his hands in his pockets, and he winked - finally provoking a genuine laugh from James. Chuckling to himself, John turned around and disappeared into the station.

———

He waited until John was long out of view before he even contemplated moving. But it wasn’t until some commuter rushing to catch a train knocked right into him that James finally moved at all. His hands turned to fists in irritation, but the mood faded as quickly as it came. He simply didn't have it in him to be annoyed just then. And for whatever it was worth, the rude passerby did snap him out of his reverie.

Deciding to take the long way home, he turned in the direction of the river, squinting into the cold winter sun. He found himself grinning as he spotted the large Cutty Sark ship that sat in the concrete square by the water. There were old ships everywhere in this damn borough, he hadn't ever paid them much attention before. Would he ever see one now and not picture John as a pirate on its deck? If this was the case he might need to move out of Greenwich in order to get some peace.

He was pulled out of this amusing thought by the sound of a woman’s voice coming from the far corner of the open space. Her voice rang sweet and clear, her fingers worked the guitar strings expertly. He found himself moving automatically in her direction. He hadn’t been out busking himself since that night he had brought John back to the shop with his silly little chair. Seeing this woman, he felt an odd longing to be standing where she was. He listened instead.

_And I had a lover_  
_It's so hard to risk another these days_  
_These days-_  
_Now if I seem to be afraid_  
_To live the life I have made in song_  
_Well it's just that I've been losing so long_

It was a familiar tune. Most buskers preferred to play covers of well-known songs, which was smart because it generally resulted in better tips. James wasn’t all that smart, he supposed. And definitely stubborn. He rarely played anything that he didn't write himself.

The calming quality of the woman's voice cleared his head space, and he found that he was a little more capable of sorting through his thoughts and feelings in that moment.

John had given him a gift today. He had recognized that James was at war with these things that were happening. He couldn't reconcile giving himself fully to this beautiful thing they had begun while his turbulent past threatened to resurface with every passing minute. The hurricane of emotions would surely drive him insane. So John had given him the gift of time. If he hadn’t left with those parting words, James felt sure he would have struggled with the balance. Two worlds colliding. John was allowing him to focus on reconciling the things he had fooled himself into thinking were behind him. It was almost unnerving how well John read him now. He had to remind himself what a short time they'd known each other, because it was beginning to feel like John knew him better than almost anyone. Second only to Hal - though it was not so long ago he would have said Thomas and Miranda knew him best.

“Miranda,” he sighed the name. It wasn’t fair to keep her waiting - wondering if he would ever call her back. He knew he was an asshole, but maybe he didn't have to be an asshole all the time. It was a brief moment of comic self-awareness, and he almost laughed. _Progress_.

He reached in his pocket for his mobile, as well as a few quid to drop in the woman’s case. She smiled her thanks, still singing her song.

_I'll keep on moving_  
_Things are bound to be improving these days_  
_These days-_  
_These days I sit on corner stones_  
_And count the time in quarter tones to ten_  
_Don't confront me with my failures_  
_I had not forgotten them_

He moved closer to the river - it looked remarkable this time of day, as the dark water glistened with flecks of gold reflected from the sun. He didn't always manage to find beauty in his own neighborhood, but today everything seemed elevated. If he could maintain these high spirits, he was beginning to think he might actually stand a chance of surviving this phone call. Finally deciding he had done far more than enough stalling, James dialed Miranda's number, raised the phone to his ear, and braced himself for whatever was to come; the delicate music and the museum ship lingered behind his back.

—————————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is listening to:  
> [ Yet Again by Grizzly Bear](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kE6mkRB2Yi8)  
> (Shout-out to Grizzly Bear for being an lgbtq band! Hot tip: the lead singer Ed Droste is an out gay man).
> 
> The female busker is singing:  
> [ These Days by Jackson Browne](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcJDI7a_1lk)  
> (Although I was thinking of this [ St. Vincent cover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1vxQs84FMWQ) when I wrote it - but she sings the [ Nico version ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0_z_UEuEMAo)which has slightly different lyrics, and I liked the original ones better for the purposes of the fic. Seriously - there are soooo many covers of this song out there. Shout-out to St. Vincent for being an lgbtq band! Hot tip: Annie Clark is Not Straight).
> 
> So user squirrel_in_a_waistcoat said that they like all of my research that I give you, and I hadn't even posted this chapter yet! You may regret telling me that now! All of the places and things in the chapter are real. So please enjoy a virtual tour of Greenwich by someone who hasn't been there in almost seven years! (Shout-out to google earth for all that they do for us).  
> [ The Green Cafe ](https://www.google.com/maps/@51.4796998,-0.0099181,3a,75y,146.43h,79.31t/data=!3m7!1e1!3m5!1sSFHOYHKqjmUAAAQvvLxuXw!2e0!3e2!7i12488!8i6244)  
> [ Greenwich Park](https://www.google.com/maps/@51.4790686,-0.0056267,3a,75y,178.62h,104.77t/data=!3m8!1e1!3m6!1s-pvih6weu2do%2FVOfNprNg9OI%2FAAAAAAAAAJ8%2Fhbl2fCGQsCUliqUj5q4z90Cp8T2hlwHFQCJkC!2e4!3e11!6s%2F%2Flh4.googleusercontent.com%2F-pvih6weu2do%2FVOfNprNg9OI%2FAAAAAAAAAJ8%2Fhbl2fCGQsCUliqUj5q4z90Cp8T2hlwHFQCJkC%2Fw203-h100-k-no-pi0-ya9.248009-ro-0-fo100%2F!7i10240!8i5120)  
> [ Ship in a Bottle sculpture](http://www.rmg.co.uk/see-do/we-recommend/attractions/grab-selfie-nelsons-ship-bottle) (Don't really know if you can see this from outside of the museum, but let's pretend you can. It's rad).  
> [ Cutty Sark Museum ](https://www.google.com/maps/@51.4833328,-0.01,3a,75y,54.92h,110.98t/data=!3m8!1e1!3m6!1s-csRml-IcQUU%2FUtqfAWc54QI%2FAAAAAAADU4s%2FLDXguftP3A08TYLR-nvBDdb6HKdJ-AH8wCJkC!2e4!3e11!6s%2F%2Flh3.googleusercontent.com%2F-csRml-IcQUU%2FUtqfAWc54QI%2FAAAAAAADU4s%2FLDXguftP3A08TYLR-nvBDdb6HKdJ-AH8wCJkC%2Fw203-h100-k-no-pi0-ya250.1785-ro-0-fo100%2F!7i3840!8i1919)  
> And if you're really interested, [ this is a map of the route they walked.](http://s1149.photobucket.com/user/ike_a_wind/media/greenwich-map_zps2pg71c3b.jpg.html) (I'm sorry I have no chill). 
> 
> I fell in love with the idea of them living in Greenwich because of the maritime history that is everywhere there. All of the museums, as well as the Naval Academy and like ship themed restaurants and whatnot. You can't escape it. Also it's the site of the Prime Meridian which I think is very cool, and could probably be symbolic of something, but I'm not going to let my brain start thinking about that or I'll never find my way back. (Any readers from Greenwich? Am I completely getting everything wrong? lol)


	12. gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John makes some questionable life choices  
> James talks to Miranda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven't always personally responded to people's very nice comments, but I've read them all and they all give me life. Seriously I could cry. I love you people. 
> 
> And I just want to say that these last three chapters that are coming are my favorites so I hope you enjoy them too :)

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Twelve: Gold

————————————

“How are you holdin’ up?”

“I really do not know how to answer that question.”

John was looking morosely at his half empty pint glass. After personally witnessing how down he had been earlier in the day, Muldoon had insisted that he go out with him and some friends that night. He seemed to think it might help him get his mind off of everything. It was Friday, and he hadn’t spoken to James since Wednesday afternoon. He told James to take his time, and he knew that it was the right thing to say. He even felt pretty good about it at the time, but he didn’t count on how hard it would actually be to wait.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really.”

He slumped back in his chair with a huff. He took a grumpy swig of his drink. He fidgeted with his knit hat in his hands. He quickly tired of that and tossed the hat on the table. Muldoon's eyes tracked this all, his expression a mix of amusement and sympathy. John scowled at him and took one more swig.

“Okay then. It’s good you came out, though. Maybe we can - “ 

  
“The thing is,” John cut him off with a sudden manic energy, and Muldoon sat back indulgently and smiled as he began to ramble, “I actually do think we’re in a good place. It’s just so hard to know when there’s been no communication - but that was pretty much my idea. I can’t take it personally. But god, it’s driving me crazy. I’m at work and I’m checking my phone every two minutes, and of course there’s nothing. And I know that there will be nothing. But every time I’m a little more disappointed. And then I have to put up with the arseholes at these events I'm working - with a smile on my face. And I say 'Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My pleasure, sir' - meanwhile I’m dying inside. And, honestly? I really do hope that he works things out. I think it’s absolutely crucial to his future happiness and everything - but I’m also just a little terrified because there’s so much history there. How can I possibly compete with that epic fucking history? Me? Fucking weird, talks-too-much, tragic, broken, orphan me? When he’s loved these great, classy, accomplished, beautiful people? I mean I don’t actually know what they look like - but they’re definitely beautiful. I know it. What if he realizes what he lost and is on a plane to the Bahamas as we speak? Can you even imagine those freckles on a tropical island? He'll die of sun-poisoning within a week! Meanwhile, here I am, working my low-pay, shit job. Can’t control my own hair, let alone any other goddamn thing in my life. I mean what the fuck? Who do I think I am? But god... mostly I just... I really fucking hope he’s okay.” He finally trailed off then slumped back once more - energy effectively depleted.

“Are you done?” Muldoon asked, clearly amused by John’s mental breakdown.

“I’m done.” John said, glaring at him in relatively good humor.

“And do you feel better?”

“A little.”

“And do you see that you’re bein’ a little bit ridiculous? And self-defeating? And that it ain’t doin’ anybody any good?”

John rolled his eyes, “When did you get a fucking degree in psychology?”

“I’m fuckin’ deep. You know this.”

John barked out a short laugh, “If you’re deep, then this fucking pint glass can hold a whole ocean.”

“Smart mouthed fuck,” Muldoon chuckled.

John ran his fingers through his hair - or he tried to, but they got caught in his tangle of curls. He sighed in a rather dramatic fashion, then looked Muldoon clear in the eyes. “I think I’m going to get very, very, _very_ drunk tonight,” he said with finality.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Logan slapped his shoulder as he and Charlotte arrived in time to catch his declaration. Logan could be a pain in the ass sometimes, but he was definitely the guy you wanted around when you were trying to have a night of drunken fun. John had never been happier to see him.

“Thank fucking christ. Logan go get us some shots, will you?”

“Yes sir!”

  
———

 _And I love her so_  
_I wouldn't trade her for gold_  
_I'm walking on moon beams_  
_I was born with a silver spoon_

She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

He had made a masochistic event of hiding away any photos or reminders of both Miranda and Thomas when he had severed their ties. It had been nearly two years since he’d seen her face, and when she opened the door to her hotel suite, he found himself suddenly short of breath.

Miranda had a mirrored expression of amazement on her face when she first saw him, though she recovered almost instantly. She smiled sweetly at him, “I’m glad you came. Will you come in?”

He nodded, and she stepped aside to clear the way for him.

The room was a study in decadence. The ceilings were high with an ornate pink and silver moulding, the walls featured baroque paintings of exotic birds which flanked a large mirror above a crackling fireplace. The opposite wall was home to a large bookcase, with every shelf full of large leather bound tomes. Though it wasn’t any of these things, nor the soft plush couches, nor the crystal chandelier, nor even the large bay window draped in fine curtains that drew his eye immediately upon entering the suite. It was the beautiful Steinway grand piano that sat unoccupied on the far side of the room. He had a fleeting thought of whom he would like to see sitting at that bench, contentedly playing the most intricate melodies, lit by the soft light that glowed through the window. But he pushed it to the far recesses of his mind. Those kinds of thoughts would not be helpful tonight.

James reflected that he felt even more out of place in this grand space than he had in the ridiculous Mexican restaurant in Islington. There was a time when he wouldn’t have thought twice about being in such a place, but things had changed so much.

Distantly, he heard Miranda ask for his coat. He shrugged it off along with his scarf and realized suddenly how very different he must look to the man she remembered. When Miranda knew him he had a clean shave and a respectable haircut. He wore brighter colors and finer brands. He certainly had fewer lines on his face and less dark circles under his eyes. He was suddenly very self-conscious of the jumper he was wearing. It was a favorite of his - a deep wine red, but well worn. His eyes were drawn to the way the fabric had pilled on the arms, and he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows in hopes it would be less noticeable.

Miranda, of course, looked impeccable. She wore an elegant woven blouse with a delicate floral pattern in shades of blue, her trousers were finely pressed and tailored. She had abandoned her shoes and walked in her stocking feet to the bedroom with his things.

James moved toward the bookcase with his hands linked behind his back as he waited for her return. Reading the spines of the books helped him to find focus.

When he had called her back that Wednesday afternoon he had almost been detached. Possibly that woman who busked nearby had sent him into a trance. It had been as if he were observing some stranger who vaguely resembled him navigate through a difficult conversation. His voice had been steady, his words decisive, and his resolve firm. It was in complete opposition to the way he actually felt. It wasn’t until after he had ended the call, with plans made to meet, that he allowed himself to marvel at the very sound of her voice.

Now he marveled anew, as she re-entered the room and spoke to him once more, “Have a seat, I’ve called down for tea.”

He looked at her sideways for a moment, still fascinated by her mere presence, then nodded again before moving to perch stiffly on the couch.

He caught her sad smile before she could hide it away. What was it that she felt when she looked at him? Pity? Regret? Sorrow? The fingers of his right hand tapped on his thigh, betraying his nerves. He consciously stopped the tic, took a deep breath and looked up at her. It was the first true eye contact made that evening. They were both on the verge of speaking, when there was a knock at the door. The tea had arrived. Their strained silence was extended once more.

James sat awkwardly as the man placed a tray of tea and biscuits on the table in front of him, then inquired if there was anything else they needed. Miranda thanked him, handed him what appeared to be a generous tip, and bid him a good evening with a smile. Finally the door closed behind the hotel clerk, and Miranda turned back to James. She endeavored to breach the silence between them.

“How are you, James?”

How was he? How could he possibly answer that question? He was confused. He was tense. He was apprehensive. He was even a little scared. That’s how he was in that moment.

But how was he outside of _this_ room in _this_ moment? It occurred to him that he had been genuinely happy not three days ago. He had been hopeful that the happiness might continue into an indefinite future for the first time in years. He had forgotten all about this kind of confusion, tension, apprehension, and fear for those few brilliant days that he had stolen with John.

 _Stop thinking about John_ , he ordered himself.

Looking at his own hands, he said, “I’m doing well. How are you, Miranda?”

She laughed then, not with any kind of mirth, but in sheer exasperation. James nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of it. It seemed that whatever patience she had been trying to emanate for James’ apparent fragile state was worn through. “James, you are truly incredible. Do we not know each other well enough to speak plainly? After all of the things we’ve been through, I don’t think we need to hide behind these pleasantries.”

He was dumbfounded for the briefest moment, then his own resolve broke. “Pleasantries? I can assure you there is nothing pleasant about what’s happening here. Where are we? What is this place? We part on bitter words and suffer through years of silence, and suddenly we’re sitting in a gilded room with tea and biscuits inquiring about each others health as if none of it had happened?” He took a deep breath then huffed it out, “How am I? I’m a lot of fucking things right now, and they’re all very confused. How the fuck are you, Miranda?”

She stood there wide-eyed during this tirade, then broke into actual laughter as she sunk down onto the opposite couch. “God, finally you’re someone I recognize. I was beginning to worry you had suffered through a lobotomy.”

Now he was the one who laughed. It was strange to his own ears, and he cut it off rather quickly.

“Can we have some honest conversation now that all of that nonsense is out of the way?” She asked, smiling softly.

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.”

She eyed him, reading him expertly, as she always read everything and everyone. She nodded, coming to terms with the fact that she might have to do most of the work, “Right, then I suppose I’ll start.”

She spoke as she readied her tea, mixing in a splash of cream and a generous spoonful of sugar - as James suddenly recalled she always took it. “As you know, Thomas and I have spent most of our time on New Providence Island these past two years, though I travel quite a bit for work now. It was an adjustment learning to live in that climate. Neither one of us were prepared for the heat and humidity - and god those awful storms. But we’ve settled in fairly well by now. I think Thomas is happier now that he is out of Parliament, if I’m being honest. Though he still goes into deep sorrows, and we needn’t pretend we don’t know why. But he’s taken to writing. I don’t think you’ll be surprised to know that he is quite gifted at it. He’s published many pieces for the newspapers, mostly in the political sections. But he is also working on a book. A history of the pirates of Nassau. He finds the history of the island extremely interesting, though I can’t say I share his enthusiasm. Anarchy and piracy birthed what is now little more than a tourist resort. I find it all rather sad, somehow.

“So I work quite a lot, and Thomas writes. We entertain sometimes, though not as we used to. Most days we manage to be quite happy. But there is something that is always left unspoken between us. I don’t mean to upset you when I say this, but we don’t speak of you. Though I am certain that not a day passes that either one of us doesn’t think of you. When I left to come back to London, I could hear the words that Thomas didn’t say - he wanted to ask if I would try to see you. But I don’t think he really wanted to know the answer.

“He doesn’t blame you for a single thing. And neither do I. It’s important that you understand that. But he was heartbroken that we couldn’t find a way to remain in each others lives somehow. He respected your decision to cut off all ties, even if he didn't understand it. But it’s a silent torture for him. I think that’s why he works so hard, researching and writing into the late hours. It occupies his mind. He cannot be idle.

“And that more or less brings us up to date. Oh, and in response to your question of where you and I are right now, I am currently employed by a rather wealthy client who insisted on housing me in this rather presumptuous hotel. But I must admit, I’ve enjoyed having that piano at my disposal this past week. I haven’t played at all in Nassau, and I find it calms me.” She ended with a curt smile, and took a sip of her tea as she waited patiently for James to comment.

He sat with his fingers laced, elbows on his knees. His eyes rested on the ornate tea pot that sat on the table between them, his mind whirled with all of the new information that had just been unveiled for him. He had spent many hours wondering what their life in Nassau was like, against his better judgement. He couldn’t reconcile his fantasies with the reality. Finally he grasped for one solid fact that he could make sense of, and asked simply, “Pirates?” with one eyebrow raised in her direction.

She smiled warmly at him. “Pirates.” Setting down her cup, she leaned back languidly against the sofa cushions. “And what have you been up to these past few years? I see you’ve gone for a new look - all long hair, scruff, and tattoos.”

He blinked down at his forearm. He had forgotten that she'd never seen the ink on his arm before. It was now fully exposed since he had rolled up the sleeves of his jumper. He brushed a hand over it self-consciously. He had gotten a black ink line tattoo of a skull with a candle burning on its crown in the midst of a rather dramatic period of maudlin only a few months after they had left. She noticed his hesitation and assured him, “Don’t worry, I think it suits you. You were always more wild than you let on.”

“I -“ he didn’t know quite where to start. “I’m staying with Hal now.” It was the one concrete fact that he could easily provide her with.

“Yes, I know,” she said, surprising him. “I asked him not to tell you - but I called Hal about a year ago. I know you wanted to separate completely, but I just needed some reassurance that you were doing okay. So I called. At the time, you were only just getting settled there.”

James was more shocked that Hal had managed to keep that a secret than he was that Miranda had reached out to him. They never knew each other all that well. They’d met of course, and got along when they did. But they were very separate parts of his life.

“And what else did Hal inform you of?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.

“Not too much. Only that you were spending your days working, and your nights singing and doing little else in between. Is that just about the whole of it?”

“Yes,” he said, and for a moment he believed it was true - for he had forbidden himself from considering the events of this past week at all tonight. He sighed, not wanting to lie to her. “And no.” He contemplated how best to voice his feelings. Taking a deep breath, he went on, “I think I might actually be on the verge of something good, Miranda. Some actual happiness. I’d forgotten the feeling for so long - but it’s returned and I don’t know what to do with it. It feels right most of the time, but I can’t help thinking I don’t deserve it.”

She studied him as he spoke. Her eyes held a certain sadness in their depths, but there was no pity - and he was thankful. After the briefest moment of contemplation, she moved to sit beside him. She reached out to take his hand, but hesitated just short of touching, waiting for his okay. James nodded minutely, and turned his palm up, inviting her grip. He registered absently how different the feel of it was from that of John’s hand in his.

“All that I have ever wanted for you - is that you could find a way to be happy - to be at peace. I know that you, being who you are, will never actually settle into that fully. You’re always at war with something or someone. I'm not sure you could function without a little turmoil in your life. But that doesn’t mean that you can’t set aside some space for a happy, meaningful existence. Otherwise - what else are we doing here?”

James closed his eyes, and tightened his hand around hers. “I’ve missed you, Miranda,” he said it softly, but there could be no mistaking how genuinely he felt it.

  
She used her free hand to gently guide his head down to her shoulder. It was an unparalleled comfort. “And I you,” she whispered into his hair.

———

They spent the evening in each others company. Once the initial awkwardness had passed, they found it easy enough to fall into a comfortable rhythm. James was reminded in full technicolor why he had been so content all those years with the Hamiltons.

They went out for supper, and then stayed out for a couple of drinks afterward. Mostly he asked questions - about what the Bahamas were like, what she did at work, and where she had traveled. When he was compelled to be the one answering questions he found a way to make the answers about work, or about Hal. He even regaled her with some especially interesting interactions that he’d had while busking, including the time a man tried to run off with his guitar case full of tips, though he managed to leave out the most important meeting which had happened only last week.

It was nearing midnight when James felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. “It’s probably Hal,” he said apologetically as he retrieved it. He froze and felt his face begin to turn red as he read John’s name on the screen. He gathered himself, and placed the phone face-down on the table.

“You’re not going to answer?” Miranda asked innocently.

“Ah, no. No, I'll call them back tomorrow.” He couldn’t quite meet her eyes.

“So, it wasn’t Hal?”

“No, it wasn’t Hal.”

Miranda's knowing gaze would not let up - damn her and her aptitude for reading him so well.

“Jesus Christ, Miranda. I don’t know how to talk to you about this,” he was actually starting to get annoyed. It felt good to be annoyed with her, it was such a normal feeling to have.

“Fine. Fine. You don’t have to," she held up her hands in surrender. "I’m just happy to know that you’re not alone.”

James couldn’t quite suppress his grin.

———

“I want to ask you something, James. And feel free to say no - but I hope you don’t.”

“Yes?”

He was walking Miranda back to her ridiculous posh hotel. Tthey were both sated from food and drink, and they found themselves in fairly high spirits as they strolled through the city streets.

“I have plans to call home tomorrow, to talk to Thomas," she said and looked sideways at James to try and catch his reaction. He managed to keep his face impassive, but his footing fumbled. She graciously refrained from commenting. "It will be in the early afternoon. I think it would be really nice if you were here. He would love to hear your voice. I know it.”

James felt a tug at his heart. It had taken a lot to come here to see just her. Finding the nerve to speak to Thomas would be a whole other battle. Still, he had feared the worst about his reunion with Miranda, but had been wrong about the grudge he assumed she would have harbored. He had instead been greeted with nothing but understanding and warmth. And everything she said to this point implied that Thomas would bare no ill will either.

“Okay,” he conceded at last. He saw her relieved smile out of the corner of his eye. “Will you let him know in advance? I don’t want to just spring myself on him unawares. We’ll give him a chance to - to say he doesn’t wish to speak to me if that’s how he feels.”

“I’m certain that he does. But yes - I’ll send him a message.” She touched his arm as she said, “Thank you, James.”

He parted with Miranda at the entrance to the hotel with a soft kiss to her forehead. He watched as she moved gracefully through the doors before turning to find The Walrus.

Once he was safely in the shelter and relative warmth of the vehicle, James pulled out his phone and looked at the voicemail alert on the screen. He had tried not to dwell on it while he finished spending his evening with Miranda. He couldn’t imagine why John had called so late at night, though he did have a fleeting thought that John might be in some kind of trouble. It was unlikely, but he always expected the absolute worst in every scenario. He braced himself for whatever he was about to hear and brought the phone to his ear;

“Shit. Sorry. I’m sorry - I definitely said you could - have some time. Sorry I don’t know why I’m calling you. I have absolutely no good reason. Shit. Fuck. Ah - I guess I'm just thinking about - I mean I’m just hoping you’re - ah - you’re good. Yeah. Is she there with you now? …. Right this is a - a message - not a conversation. I should probably shut the fuck up soon. Sorry - again. Seriously, you don’t need to call me back or anything - still take your time and all that….. Fuck. Um, yeah, bye. Sorry.”

James couldn’t control his grin as he listened to the rambling message, and he was actually laughing by the end. He was drunk. John had just drunk dialed him. He was practically shouting over some loud music that James couldn't quite make out, and he was pretty sure he heard someone in the background yelling at him to "Stop being such a muppet and hang up the phone!" Whatever he had expected to hear from this message, it certainly wasn’t this.

He was feeling uncharacteristically optimistic in that moment, so he dialed John’s number without hesitation. It went straight to voicemail. He sighed with a smile, and hung up without leaving a message. It was quite late, he'd likely passed out drunk by now. He’d try him again in the morning.

————

He didn’t recognize the bed he was in, and he certainly didn’t know how he had gotten there.

John’s head was pounding. He pushed his loose hair out of his face as he blinked bleary-eyed around the room. It was vaguely familiar, he was sure he had seen those indigo curtains before, but he couldn't say when. Eventually, his eyes landed on the woman sitting on a plush chair in the corner, a book open on her lap.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Idelle said, laughing at the sight of his head popping above the pillows and the fluffy duvet.

If he looked half as good as he felt, he was sure that he was a pitiful sight and well worth the laugh.

John groaned and let his head fall back down onto the mercifully soft pillow.

“I should really be saying good afternoon, I guess. How are you feeling?”

“I feel like a horse is actively stomping on my skull,” his voice was coarser than usual, and it seemed that speaking made the horse stomp harder.

“There’s some water and aspirin on the table there.”

John glanced over at the bedside table. It was within arms reach, but still felt too far to bother. He’d give it a try in another minute or so.

A minute or two passed in silence, save for the pounding in his skull, and he nearly drifted back off to sleep. He caught himself, thinking it would probably not be wise to linger and take advantage of Idelle’s hospitality. “Is this your bed, then?” he asked, in hopes that a little conversation might help him to remain awake. 

Idelle looked up from her book again as she said, “Yes. And no offense, but you were not fun to share a bed with - tossing and turning, limbs flailing everywhere. I think I have bruises from your bad dreams.”

“Sorry,” he said pushing his way up onto his elbows. “And thank you. I vaguely remember coming here last night, but the details are a big blur.”

She closed the book on her lap, but kept her thumb in place as a page holder. “Nobody had much confidence in your ability to get yourself home last night, so Logan and Muldoon practically carried you back here. I never had you pegged as the blackout drunk type.”

“I’m really not,” he said rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Which is why I am especially grateful for your patience.” She simply smiled and shook her head fondly. His new upright position sent blood rushing in new directions, and the thumping in his head intensified. He groaned, “I think I’ll go for some of that aspirin after all.”

He popped a couple of the tablets into his mouth and swallowed most of the glass of water in one large gulp. It was a welcome salve for his dry mouth and throat. He looked around at the table, and patted the pockets of the jeans - which he had apparently slept in. Somebody, likely Muldoon, had seen fit to remove his prosthetic, another small mercy as his leg always ached if he slept with it on. He realized he was missing something else, though. “Idelle, have you seen my phone?”

She gave him a pained look of sympathy, “I don’t think it survived the night, love.”

 _Shit_.

Now that his senses were slowly returning, he was becoming more aware of a tender feeling on his jaw. He hadn’t really noticed it before as the pounding in his skull was so fucking persistent. He touched the offending area gingerly and flinched.

Idelle watched with a grimace, “I don’t suppose you remember being slugged in the face either.”

“Fuck,” he groaned. It was coming back to him now. He had tried to pick a fight with some asshole at the pub. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way it had ended with him flat on his back with a swollen jaw, and his phone smashed under somebody’s boot halfway across the room. He fell back on the pillows once more and covered his eyes with his arm. He could really be an impressive fucking mess when he set his mind to it.

“Idelle?”

“Hmm?” she had gone back to reading her book.

“Would you mind if I hung out here for a little while? I don’t think I’m ready to face the world just yet.”

“Take all the time you need,” she said without looking up.

 _Fuck_. Another memory tried to fight its way to the surface. He had definitely drunkenly called James last night. Once again, _fuck_. That was a memory he wouldn’t mind keeping buried for just a little while longer. How fucking embarrassing.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really fun to write, I hope you liked it! :)
> 
> The lyrics at the start of James' POV:  
> [ Gold by Fergus O'Farrell, performed by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova as The Swell Season](https://youtu.be/8X4gLNXhJyA?t=48s)  
> (I used these lyrics because I imagine James wrote them for Miranda (and Thomas tbh) back in the day, and they're kind of resurfacing in his memory as he goes to see her. It's the only time I'm using lyrics that aren't specifically sourced within the story, so I had to point it out in the notes. It's like an appendix or something, idk. Also, if you think about these lyrics in context of TVcanon Flint x Miranda you will die because he would of course willingly give back every piece of the Urca gold and then some just to have Miranda back, so you know, cry all day all night). 
> 
> Straight up stole the line "I've got bruises from your bad dreams" from the song [ Miserable Without You by Jarrod Gorbel](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXQD-wKTRF4) because it just seemed right :) This song is real cute btw
> 
> And if you think I didn't research _exactly_ which [hotel suite](http://www.the-connaught.co.uk/luxury-accommodation/hotel-suites/sutherland-suite/) Miranda is staying in, you don't know me at all. Rich people, am I right?
> 
> Oh and [ this](https://www.instagram.com/p/BLyINFHgblR/?taken-by=gristletattoo) was the inspiration for James' tattoo. :)


	13. nocturne

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Thirteen - Nocturne

——————

He tried John’s number again the next morning. Not too early - he didn't want to wake him when he was clearly sleeping off a night of heavy drinking. But James grew quickly impatient with waiting, so he didn't last long past 9:00. He tried not to overthink it when, once again, the call went straight to voicemail. He left a short message asking John to call later that night, then he made a conscious effort to move on with his day. There were plenty of other things he should be worrying about anyway.

Before he had to leave to meet Miranda at her suite, James spent a little time going over some things concerning the shop with Hal. He hadn't taken so much time off work in ages, and he was beginning to feel a little guilty about leaving Hal alone so much - though he made no complaints. If anything, Hal seemed happier for it, which James tried not to take personally. When James mentioned that he'd have to leave soon, Hal was downright cheery as he shooed him away. 

His effort to stop thinking about John was short-lived. When James returned to his room, his eyes immediately landed on the phone he'd left on the table, and the nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach grew more persistent. Why did it always go straight to voicemail? Why wasn't it ringing at all? Was John okay? When he was able to think logically, it occurred to him that John had probably simply forgotten to charge his phone. He’d get James’ message and call later. Not a big deal. He checked the phone again with his expectations in check - still nothing. No new texts. No new voicemails. No word at all. 

When he'd gotten home last night, James had listened to the drunken message once again - maybe twice. His cheeks had ached from grinning. How could John still be so endearing when he was a slurring sloppy mess? Most times he seemed so self-possessed and confident that it was almost intimidating. It was somehow comforting to learn first hand that John lost his cool sometimes too. He was human after all.

After staring at the blank screen for an unreasonable amount of time, lost in his own wandering thoughts, his eyes darted to the clock on the wall. He sobered just a little. He’d have to be leaving very soon, and it wouldn't do to be pining away for John like this. And then there was Thomas. He had tried not to dwell on what he would say to Thomas, and his worry over John had actually helped in that regard. But it was almost time now, and the panic was getting harder to keep at bay.

He finished getting ready for the day in a studied silence, and thought absurdly that he should consider taking up meditative yoga for the sake of his over-active anxiety.

As he gave himself a once-over in the mirror, his eyes caught on his fingers tapping nervously on his thigh. He shook his head in exasperation at himself. It was a phone call, what did it matter how he looked? With an indistinct grumble that might have said, "Get your shit together," he grabbed his coat, and left.

—————

Of course it was a fucking Skype call - goddamned 21st century technology.

Miranda had very conveniently left that part out. James had barely prepared himself for the reality of hearing Thomas’ voice again - he was not at all ready to see him face-to-face, even if it was from four thousand miles away. 

“You’ll be fine, James. He won’t bite. Especially not from across the ocean.”

He paced a couple of times across the ridiculous hotel room before Miranda finally asked him to stop. He halted at the window and looked out at the red brick buildings across the street. If he hoped for it hard enough maybe he could blink and find himself over there instead. Maybe the rooms in those buildings would allow him to breath a little easier.

“Okay, I’m calling now. Ready or not.” His back was turned on her, but he could feel the eye roll that came with this proclamation.

The cheerful ringing on the laptop mocked him from the other side of the room. He remained stubbornly by the window. 

“Darling!” Miranda’s voice was all pleasure and ease.

“Hello! How are you, my dear?” The most basic of greetings, nothing elaborate, and tinny through the lap-top's speakers - yet James reacted as if it were poetry. He closed his eyes, he sighed, he bowed his head, a sad sentimental smile on his face. _That voice_.

He didn’t hear the words that followed, or at least he didn’t register their meaning. He was caught in a trap of flooding memories. Just the sound of these two people whom he had loved, whom he still loved, and always would love, speaking together so naturally had him reeling. It was like it was only yesterday that the three of them had sat in a parlor discussing ideas great and small - letting their passions run free.

James hadn’t turned around. His body was paralyzed by the weight of the moment - a moment that he never dreamed would come. It wasn’t until he heard his own name spoken in Thomas' voice that he clawed his way back to reality. Then Miranda was speaking.

“Yes. He’s here. He’s being stubborn. Or shy, I don’t know. - James?”

Like breaking out of a mould, James slowly turned in her direction.

“Will you come sit with me? I believe Thomas would like to see you.” She said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

He took his time walking over to her, turned on his heel, and sunk slowly down onto the sofa beside her. He felt her hand lite reassuringly on his knee, and he took the strength it offered to raise his eyes to the computer screen.

And there he was. Thomas was sitting in a brightly lit room, glowing in the natural sunlight that flowed through the many large opened windows - a soft breeze made the linen curtains dance peacefully behind him - making the scene all too serene. A professional movie studio couldn't have designed it quite so beautifully.

Thomas had his chin resting in one hand, his fingers softly covered his mouth, as if he were trying to refrain from smiling too brightly at him. His blue eyes crinkled with fondness.

James was at a loss. He didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t know how to react to the kindness that emanated from Thomas’ eyes. He was speechless, and he felt a little foolish. But when the initial shock of it all began to dim, it occurred to him that Thomas wasn't speaking either. James blinked away from the screen, thinking that he might be able to find something to say if he didn't have the distraction of Thomas sitting there, looking back at him.

Miranda, apparently growing impatient with these grown men who couldn’t remember how to speak, broke the silence first, “Thomas, James was telling me last night that he’s recorded an album.”

James heard as Thomas took a deep breath, “That’s wonderful,” he said sounding somewhat light of breath, “I hope we’ll get to hear it?”

James blinked back up at him. The smallest half grin threatened to form on his lips when he saw that Thomas was now smiling openly at him. James was only just noticing how tanned and healthy he looked, and he was happy for it. The last time he had seen him, the bruises from his beating had barely finished healing. He choked down the emotion that came with that unwelcome memory.

“Of course. I’ll make sure you get a copy." After a beat he added, "I'll even autograph it for you." It was a half-hearted joke, and he felt immediately idiotic.

But Thomas laughed, "I appreciate that."

Christ, how he had missed that laugh. He felt the muscles of his own face finally forming into a true smile.

How had he been so wrong about the state of things between them? He had been prepared for this to be a struggle, and yet the pair of them were showing him kindness and understanding and so much patience. He had allowed himself to wallow in self-hatred for two years, believing that Thomas and Miranda must hate him for derailing their lives. Still, he knew that he would never fully forgive himself for causing them such pain, even if they were somehow able to forgive him so generously.

“I’ve missed you, James,” Thomas said softly.

James didn’t know how long he could cope through these sudden waves of conflicting emotions, but he somehow managed to say, “I’ve missed you too.”

“Right,” Miranda said, her eyes darting back and forth between them, “I think I’m going to pop down to the shop for a few minutes - do you think the two of you will be able to form words in my absence? I believe they are crucial to the art of conversation.”

“I think we’ll manage, Miranda,” Thomas said. James simply looked at her hopelessly.

“You’ll be fine,” she said to him and placed a placating kiss on his forehead before she rose.

He sat silently, fingers laced in front of him as she retrieved her coat. Thomas was more relaxed, all the way across the Atlantic. A soft smile still played on his features as he picked up a mug to sip from - it was still morning in the Bahamas. Thomas had always drank nearly a full pot of coffee himself each morning back when they had been together. James was comforted to think that maybe not everything had changed for him.

When the door closed with an audible thud behind Miranda, Thomas was the first to break the silence, “Miranda is hopeful that you’re being genuine when you say that you’re doing well. It’s a relief. I’ve spent two years worrying that you were holed up in a dark room torturing yourself for things that you needn’t dwell upon.”

“You know me, I don’t like to dwell,” James said without conviction.

Thomas knew him too well, anyway. “No, you never dwell,” he said, heavy with sarcasm.

They both laughed, though it was still hesitant as they tested the waters of the renewed relationship.

“But you are well, I hope?” Thomas asked.

“I really believe that I am,” and he didn’t have to try for conviction - it was there.

They had survived the first five minutes, and with every passing second it became more natural - it felt more like coming home. James asked Thomas about his writing, Thomas asked James about his music. They had once known each other inside and out, and the old habits of reading one another hadn’t fully disappeared. James told him about recording that old Van Morrison song which they had both loved, but he avoided the specific mention of John as he did so. He found himself continuously catching himself just short of saying something about John. The simple fact was, meeting him was the most exciting thing that had happened to him in years. Whenever John found his way to the forefront of James' mind, he found that he couldn't quite maintain eye contact with Thomas. Apparently it was a tell that didn't go unnoticed.

“There is someone, isn’t there?” It wasn’t an accusation - it wasn’t said out of any kind of jealousy or suspicion. It was almost - hopeful?

“Wh- what?”

“It’s in everything that you’re not saying, James. You don’t have to protect me from anything. I would love nothing more than to hear that you’re not alone.”

“I don’t -” he couldn't outright deny it - but he didn’t know what he could say to him. So he hesitated. He scratched at his beard as he searched for the right words - he was acutely aware that his phone in his pocket still had not rung. Finally he said, “It’s hard to know how real it is. Everything’s so new.” His heart was racing - how could he be talking to Thomas about John? It was far too strange a concept to grasp.

But Thomas was smiling. He was actually happy to hear it.

“Well I hope for all of our sakes that it is real.”

_Me too_. James thought - though he couldn't bring himself to say it aloud. Instead he smiled and inquired about the weather.

———

It wasn’t until he was once again safely inside the confines of his small room in Greenwich that James allowed himself to fully reflect on the events of the day. Everything had changed so quickly. For two years he had been in a suspended state of discontent. Ever since he had met John, his entire life had transformed.

One week ago he would have sworn on his life that he would never resolve things with Thomas and Miranda. He was wholeheartedly convinced that he would never see or speak to either of them again in his life, and that this certainty would linger in the shadows of his heart for eternity. If it hadn't been for John's encouragement, he wasn't sure he would have ever found the strength to call Miranda at all.

One week ago, exactly , he had spent the entire night with John. He wouldn’t have dared presume what kind of future, if any, they would share beyond that ethereal night. He was enamored of him, sure, but he couldn't be certain how John felt. And then John had kissed him, and suddenly everything seemed possible.

Now he had come to some sort of peace and understanding with Thomas and Miranda - they had both encouraged him to move on in their own ways. It was an unprecedented relief.

But he hadn’t spoken to John in days.

He watched as the minutes ticked by and his phone remained silent. It was full dark and John still hadn't returned his calls. James tried not to get discouraged, so he distracted himself in the workshop for a while, letting his tools and his work claim his focus. However, his eyes kept finding their way to that abandoned piano in the far side of the room. It wouldn't allow him to forget about John.

Eventually he grew too impatient to sit idly by, and he sent a text John’s way.

> Are you around? I’d like to see you.

He held the phone in his hand for a solid minute, simply waiting for a response, and when none came he pushed it petulantly away from him across the table.

“You’re staying up rather late these days,” Hal commented from the stairway to the flat.

James jumped nearly out of his skin, “Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Just long enough to see you trying your best to break that very expensive phone.”

“Are you checking up on me?”

“Isn’t that the whole point of you living here? So that I can check up on you?”

“And will you report your findings to Miranda?” he asked with a scowl, but there was no malice in it.

“She told you about that, did she? Listen, if I had told you about her calling at the time, you would have had an emotional breakdown,” Hal had the decency to sound at least a little guilty.

“No, it’s fine. I understand. We’ve sorted through everything now anyway. What’s past is past, we’re all eager to move forward.”

“So why do you look like you want to punch a hole through the wall?”

He considered whether or not the truth was worth telling, but if he had learned anything over the past few days, it was that secrets were more often harmful than helpful. “I can’t get hold of John.”

“Ah, I see.”

“He called late last night - he was completely inebriated. And I haven’t heard from him since - he hasn’t returned my calls. I’m starting to worry something happened - or maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me. Both scenarios are - troublesome.”

“I’m sure you’re overthinking it. You should go to sleep, and make a fresh start of it in the morning.”

“You’re probably right. I’ll be up in a bit.”

He worked for a little while longer, all the while hoping to hear his phone buzzing across the table. It was near midnight when he finally gave up hope, and retired for the evening - his stomach tied in knots.

————

It was a restless night. James didn't remember his dreams in the morning, but he woke with a feeling of persistent unease. His subconscious hadn't been able to let go of his worry from the night before, and when he woke it had only intensified. When he sat up and reached for his phone, he already knew that he would find no messages or missed calls. That didn't make it any less disappointing when he was proven right.

Fuck it. He couldn't wait around wondering and worrying and twiddling his thumbs. He would only drive himself mad. And if, god forbid, something had actually happened to John, he could never forgive himself for sitting by and doing nothing.

He readied in record time, gave Hal a vague goodbye before any questions could be asked, and was out the door before the sun had risen fully above the small building.

As he stood in the brisk morning air, James actually took the time to think about what he was doing. He glanced at his car, but quickly decided that he would walk instead. It felt good to be in action, but he also didn't want to arrive too early and wake the whole flat for nothing. Or maybe he was just delaying the delivery of news he didn’t want to hear. He tightened his scarf, turned up his collar against the cold, and began to walk. His brain managed to think up at least a hundred new reasons why John hadn't called yet - all horrible, most improbable, some impossible. He had lost all control over his train of thought - every time a truly troubling idea entered his mind, he walked just a little bit faster. 

It wasn't until he arrived at John's building that James realized that he'd never actually been inside. He spotted the collection of post boxes and scanned the names on the labels, trying to discover which flat was John's. He found the one that read, "Chong, Lukunku, Silver - 410," and he let out a relieved breath. One step closer to an answer. He buzzed for John’s flat, resisting the urge to hit the button repeatedly. It felt like a lifetime had passed by the time a voice finally spoke through the speaker - it wasn’t John.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’m looking for John. John Silver.”

“Okay, and who are you?”

“I’m James.”

“James? Hold on I’ll be out in a second.”

He waited impatiently in the small foyer area, his index finger drumming on his thigh relentlessly.

After what seemed like hours, but in reality was no more than three minutes, a handsome dark-skinned man opened the door and leaned casually against the frame. He crossed his arms over his chest - which was practically bare as he wore his faded denim shirt unbuttoned down to his abdomen. He was completely at ease, standing there in his bare feet, and the part of James that worried John might be dead in a gutter somewhere eased up minutely. Surely his flatmate wouldn’t be so care-free if his friend had recently been brutally murdered.

“So you’re James?” the man asked with a skeptical arch of his brow.

“Yes - do you know where John is?”

“Well, let me think," and the man made a bit of a show of it, as if he was trying to recall unimportant events that happened in another lifetime. "He never came home Friday night, which was a little strange. And then he was gone all day yesterday. He finally showed up at home in the middle of the night, then left pretty early today. I’ve barely seen him in days. He looked pretty rough though, from what I did see.”

James' heart dropped - what the fuck was all of that supposed to mean?

“What do you mean he looked rough?”

“I don’t know, I think he got into a fight or something.”

James had a sudden image of Thomas’ injuries after his attack, and a fleeting picture of John in a similar state flashed across his imagination. His distress must have been evident, because the flatmate finally took pity on him.

“Easy mate,” he said with a laugh, “I’m just messing with you. Mostly. He did get into a little fight - but it was nothing serious. And he did get home late and leave early, but it’s because he had to go to work. He told me that if somebody named James tried to get hold of him that I should tell him that his phone broke and he couldn’t get a new one until Monday. Didn't mean to upset you, but the way Silver was going on about you this morning, I couldn't help myself.”

James was caught between wanting to strangle this man and wanting to hug him. He settled for running his hands over his own face as he let out a shaky breath. He was certain he had gone pale as he listened to this guy casually torture him, for he could now feel the warmth of his flush returning.

What kind of an idiot didn’t consider a broken phone? Honestly?

“He’ll be at work until around eight or nine tonight most likely. You could come back then if it's important.” Then he grinned and he added, “I'll be gone all night, and Joji's out of town, so he'll probably welcome the company.” He wriggled his eyebrows suggestively.

James’ flush was now full blown. “Right. Thank you.”

He started to turn to leave - this entire interaction was confounding and he was ready for it to end. But a flash of inspiration stopped him short with his hand on the door knob.

“Sorry, eh, what’s your name?” 

“Joshua,” he had already started to turn away, but paused, still grinning.

“Right, could you maybe spare a minute, Joshua?”

He laughed, and nodded his head toward the inside hallway, beckoning James to follow him.

—————————

Not having a phone was a phenomenal torture. How people ever functioned without them, John couldn't imagine.

It bothered him that he didn’t have it to distract him on breaks, or to occupy him on the train as he avoided making eye contact with strangers, but mostly it bothered him that he didn’t have it to talk to James. The last contact that they had was technically when he had drunk-dialed him in the middle of the night, and he hadn't had a chance to apologize for being such a fuck-up. It was an actual nightmare thinking that this was the last impression that he left for James. 

He had worked through his frustration as best as he could. He put on some extra charm in an effort to coax bigger tips out of the wealthy patrons. It was soul-sucking and unbearable, but he was very good at it when he put his mind to it. By the end of the day he was completely exhausted, both physically and emotionally, but at least he would be able to replace his phone in the morning.

John's walk home from the station was completely occupied by fantasies of falling into his warm and welcoming bed. He would surely be asleep before his head even hit the pillow. He smiled to himself, remembering how Joshua kept insisting his bed would be even warmer when he finally brought James home - but the sound of a familiar voice singing nearby stopped him dead in his tracks. Was he actually hearing James' voice right now, or was he so sleep-deprived that he was hallucinating?  He closed his eyes and listened more closely, trying to assure himself that he wasn't imagining it.

_Even if a day feels too long_  
_You feel like you can't wait another one_  
_You're slowly giving up on everything_  
_Love is gonna find you again_

He smiled again. There was no mistaking that voice.

He walked slowly to round the corner, anticipating the need to savor the moment. And there was James, standing exactly where John had first seen him. The streetlamp cast a soft light on him - he looked like pure warmth on this cold night. John had thought he was beautiful the first time he saw him, but god, now - now he was magnificent.

_You been kneeling in the dark for far too long_  
_You've been waiting for that spark, but it hasn't come_  
_Well I'm calling to you, please, get off the floor_  
_A good heart will find you again_

John crossed his arms and bit his lip, trying to keep the pure joy he felt from escaping him in any way. He was standing in the shadows a little way down the block. It was unlikely that James would catch sight of him unless he specifically looked for him there, which was also unlikely since James always lost all sense of his surroundings when he sang. John wanted to be free to watch him with unrestrained admiration for just a little while longer, so he stayed put. The passion with which James sang and played never failed to awe John. It was the music that had first drawn him in, but it was the man that made him want to stay.

_Tethered to a bird of sorrow,_  
_A voice that's buried in the hollow,_  
_You've given over to self-deceiving_  
_Your prostrate bowed would not be leaving_

_You've squandered more than you could borrow_  
_You've bet your joys on all tomorrows_  
_For the hope of some returning_  
_While everything around you is burning_

An older woman passed by John, then slowed to a stop near where James played. John could just make out her face as it softened into an appreciative smile. She listened contentedly for a moment, then she dug in her purse for a couple of coins to toss into his case. James gifted her with a genuine smile of gratitude, and John could have sworn he saw her blush in the low light. He had some sympathy for the woman - he knew first hand what effect a smile from James had on a person, and he laughed involuntarily.

Somehow James heard the sound, and looked over at the source. He faltered on the lyrics as he caught sight of John in the shadows, but he found his place and continued singing, a new smile in his eyes. 

_Come on, we gotta get out, get out of this mess we made_  
_And still for all our talk, we're both so afraid_  
_Will we leave this up to chance, like we do everything?_  
_Love is gonna find us again_

The old woman might have planned to leave after she left her tip, but something told John that it was the smile which caused her to linger. She was joined briefly by a young couple passing by. They listened for just a moment, then laced their fingers together before continuing on down the road toward John. He smiled at them as they passed by, but that was when James really started to howl, and John immediately stopped thinking about all other people.

  
_But I'm not leavin' you yet_  
_I'm not leavin' you yet_  
_I'm not leavin’_  
_I'm hangin' on!_  
_Hangin' on!_

He could barely think straight when James was like this - completely wrapped up in the music, not holding anything back. John found himself unconsciously moving closer, the distance between them had stretched on long enough. He stopped next to the woman, who seemed to be nearly as enamored of James as he was himself. They both eyed James with what could only be described as bedroom eyes, but John felt satisfied in the knowledge that the sentiment would be returned only to him - all apologies to the kind woman.

_With the faithful_  
_I'm hangin' on_  
_What's gonna come?_  
_Hangin’ on, Hangin' on  
_

James played out the the final measures of his song, eyes shut tight. When the last chord finished ringing out, he blinked his eyes back open and they immediately sought John’s. Their gazes lingered for just a moment, when the sound of applause from the woman pulled their focus. John chuckled, and joined in on the praise, throwing in a “Bravo!” for good measure.

James offered her a humble, “Thank you.”

She took a step toward him and placed a hand on his forearm, which he'd rested gently on top of his guitar. “You are very talented, young man. Thank you for sharing that with us.” Then she gave his arm a friendly pat and continued on her way. The expression on James' face was priceless as he watched her go, John did everything he could not to laugh.

“Young man?” John asked with a raised eyebrow.

“You see? I’m a fucking catch,” James replied with a half grin. John had an idea of what he wanted to do about that cocky smile, and he didn’t hesitate.

He side stepped the case on the ground that separated them and had his mouth on James’ in mere seconds. He reveled in the way that James returned the kiss with an equal need. It was hot and hungry in defiance of the cold, barren November night.

James’ guitar hung pressed between their bodies. Every so often a string would catch on one of John’s buttons and emanate a dissonant chord. He didn’t even realize that he had moved them steadily toward the nearby building so that James' back was pressed against the wall. He was giving all of his attention to James and his lips and his tongue, he had none to spare for his surroundings, so when the head of the guitar banged loudly against the wall he pulled away, startled.

John looked from the guitar back up at James and laughed softly. "Gotta be careful with that thing," he said, still a little breathless.

James’ gaze was waiting there for him, his eyes alight. He raised his hand to tuck a stray curl behind John’s ear, he placed another wet kiss on John’s lips, and then he whispered in his ear, “I think maybe you should invite me back to your place.”

———

Somewhere beneath his lust and elation, a creeping nervousness about James seeing his home was beginning to grow. It’s not that there was anything to be embarrassed about exactly, but there was always a weird apprehension around bringing someone home for the first time. He hoped that Joshua had decided to stay at his new girlfriend’s place tonight, and thanked his lucky stars that Joji was still out of town for work. He realized absently that Joji had been away since before he met James and he didn't even know of his existence.

He slid his key into the door of the flat, but he turned around and leaned his back against the door without opening it. He looked at James with a hesitant smile, “I’m not sure how tidy it will be in there. So I'm sorry if it’s a disaster - but I accept no blame for that. Josh - “

His rambling was cut off before it even got started, when James found a better occupation for his lips. John was happy enough to shut the hell up, and let James take the lead from there. As he next attended to John’s neck, James’ hand found its way to the key which John had abandoned in the keyhole. He twisted it to open the door. John staggered backward, but he was supported by James’ other hand on his back.

James walked him slowly into the flat, all the while placing soft kisses wherever his lips chose to wander. John groaned in protest when James suddenly removed his mouth from the sensitive skin near his ear to ask, “Would you mind getting me some water?”

“Water?” John asked through a haze, “Uh, yeah? No problem.”

He couldn't resist leaving James with one more kiss before reluctantly pulling himself away. He made it a few steps, still in a pleasant daze, before his eyes landed on something that froze him immediately. “What the fuck is that?”

There was an upright piano sitting against the wall where there hadn’t been one that morning. He moved toward it, stunned. Belatedly, and rather stupidly, it registered that it was the piano from James’ shop partnered with John’s newly repaired and much improved chair. 

“What did you do?” he asked turning on James. He was standing there smiling and gave only an innocent shrug in answer. “I can’t keep this.” John said adamantly.

James’ face dropped, “Why not?”

“It’s too much! I could never pay you back. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“Pay me back?” James scoffed, clearly annoyed. “There is nothing to pay back. If anything, this is a thank you - for what you did for me - getting those songs recorded - ”

“But I didn’t want you to pay me back for that! You don’t owe me anything!”

“I never said - !“ James stopped himself, took a breath, and continued more calmly, “John. That piano was basically abandoned at the shop. It has no rightful owner. We were planning on fixing it up and selling it for extra cash. This is a far more worthy fate, because at least I know that you can make good use of it." John still wasn't entirely convinced, he looked skeptically over at the piano. James sighed with a roll of his eyes, and went on more sincerely, "I was working in the shop all last night, and every time I looked at that thing, I just - I couldn't bare the thought of anybody playing it but you. Besides, was I going to bring you that old chair and not bring its natural partner? I'm not a monster.”

“Well - fuck,” John breathed, calming down little by little. “My flatmates might have something to say about it, though.”

“They already know,” James said, moving in closer.

“They know?”

“Well, yeah. How do you think we got it in here?” He moved closer still.

“Right,” John’s brain hadn’t yet caught up from the initial shock.

“Any more protestations for me to quell?” James asked, standing beside him.

“I’m sure I’ll think of one eventually.”

James laughed, “Be sure to let me know. If you come up with a good one, I promise I'll take it away." He placed a soft kiss on John's temple. “You can give it a try. I can assure you that it's in tune.”

John hadn’t considered actually playing anything on the old Yamaha before that moment. In his astonishment, he'd completely overlooked the fact that this was a piano that he was free to play whenever he liked. 

“This really is way too much,” John said, but his protests now lacked any real conviction. He sank down onto his favorite old chair. It was sturdier than he ever remembered it being, and James had even re-stuffed the cushion for him.

“If you play me something, we’ll consider it even,” James suggested.

John raised a skeptical eyebrow for what might have been the fiftieth time that night, but he centered himself in front of the instrument and let his fingers hover over the keys, just the same. He took only a moment to consider what he should play, then gave himself over completely to the song.

His fingers moved easily over the keys, they had played this particular nocturne many times before. He had found that it always brought him peace, no matter how temporary. No living man in John's life had ever brought him serenity the way that Chopin had - though he suspected James was beginning to make it his mission to try.

He allowed himself to get lost in the melody. All thoughts of broken phones and pub fights were forgotten. The nerves he felt in his stomach about the prospect of having James alone in his home now dulled to a comforting anticipation. He played out the final measures with reverence, mentally thanking Chopin for his work. As he came back to himself, he looked around to find James casually resting on the nearby couch, observing him appreciatively. At some point during John’s recital, James had removed his coat, turned on the bright lights, and procured himself the glass of water he had asked for earlier. John was oblivious to all of it.

“I don’t think I could ever tire of that,” James said.

John simply smiled, and set to the task of taking off his own coat, suddenly feeling quite warm. James watched him as he shed his layers, and in no time he was closing the distance between them with hunger in his eyes. He took John’s coat from his hands and tossed it absently in the direction of the couch that he had just vacated. But he paused, just short of leaning in for a kiss, and John was left wanting - his breath caught in his throat.

“What the fuck happened here?” he asked, his eyes were focused on John's jaw. He'd nearly forgotten about the purple bruise that had formed there since Friday night. It was partially hidden beneath his dark stubble and could almost be mistaken for a shadow in low light. But there was no denying it now that they were so close in the full brightness of the room. James lowered down to his knees so that he could get a closer look and took John’s chin gently in his hand.

John hadn't begun to think about telling James what happened at the pub. He had long since blocked out the dull ache of the injury with a combination of sheer will power and plenty of aspirin.  Now, with both of their attention suddenly focused on the bruise, it was harder to ignore the subtle throbbing.

“Ah, that. Let’s just say that Friday night was not one of my most dignified. I promise it's not as bad as it looks.” He didn’t much want to get into the details of exactly how undignified he had managed to be - or how he had mostly gotten shit-faced in a misguided attempt to stop thinking about James. Needless to say, it hadn’t worked anyway.

“Yes, well, I did get an interesting voicemail from you that night,” James said with a grin, though his eyes didn't stray from the purple bruise.

John grimaced at the blurry memory, "No comment."

James chuckled, but thankfully didn't push the matter, “You’re sure you’re alright?”

“Never better.”

James looked him clear in the eyes then, and he could only have seen that John meant it.

His thumb brushed gently over the purple area on John’s jaw, causing a shiver to run down his spine with a sharp intake of breath. James watched his reaction, then followed up by brushing his lips ever so tenderly against John's, teasing a kiss, but pulling away when John tried to seal it. A whispered, "Fuck you," escaped John in his frustration. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but he really couldn't deal with any holding back - not anymore.

James heard him though, he raised both eyebrows in amused surprise. Then he chuckled softly, and unable to hold back any longer himself, he gripped the back of John's neck, pulled him close, and kissed him deeply. His hands wove into John’s curls, and John couldn’t have broken away if he had wanted to - which he absolutely did not. He leaned into it, invited James’ tongue into his open mouth. When James started to work his way along his good jaw and down to his neck, John leaned back on his old chair, James moved with him. It set him off balance, and John’s hand shot out for purchase, which resulted in a loud clamor on the piano keys. It set James to giggling into his neck, and soon they were both laughing in a daze.

John had thought there couldn't be anything sexier than James' voice when he sang, but when he laughed like this - oh god, the sound of it beat just about anything he'd ever heard. He was torn between wanting to hear more and a need to be kissing him again. He gave into his baser instincts, and pulled James to him. He would be more than happy to spend his entire night kissing, touching, embracing James, and he had every intention of doing it. With a playful bite of his bottom lip, John pulled back just enough to breath out, “I’ve been thinking about getting you in my bed since the first time I saw you. Do you want to make that a reality for me?”

James' response was little more than a growl, and he immediately set to action. John was pleasantly surprised when he felt James’ hands grip tightly around his waist, lifting him easily out of the chair. Still rather attached at the mouth, James began to move them - he was practically carrying John - toward the nearest open door. They were most of the way through it when John managed to say between kisses, “No, wrong room! Other way!”

James immediately redirected their entangled bodies, and before John knew it he was laid on his bed - James right there with him. He remembered vaguely how desperately he had longed to be asleep in this very bed not all that long ago. But now he was here, with this man who had consumed his every thought for the past week, and he hoped he would never need to sleep again.  He could have laughed in his astonishment at finding himself in this moment after so much anticipation - but that instinct was cut short as his breath turned labored and all clear trains of thought were lost. He was completely in the moment - completely enveloped in all things James. Nothing but James. Only James.  
———————

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should have split this into two separate chapters. It's pretty long, sorry. Congrats on making it to the end! :) 
> 
> James sings:  
> [ Bird of Sorrow by Glen Hansard ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u0Bn5U5ZCQo)  
> (This song tricks you into thinking it's all slow and pretty but then at the end Glen just goes SO hard. I love him). 
> 
> John plays:  
> [ Nocturne in E-flat major, Op. 9, No. 2 by Chopin ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9E6b3swbnWg)  
> (This really could have been any of Chopin's nocturnes bc they're all beautiful, but this one is my personal favorite).
> 
> Only one chapter left! Thank you for sticking with me this far, babes!


	14. strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly just an epilogue of fluff with a peppering of closure, so have fun!

**take this sinking boat and point it home**

Chapter Fourteen - Strangers

———————-

He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept so soundly. He had fallen deeply asleep with one arm still draped across John’s chest, and didn’t wake once the entire night. John could have played Ode to Joy at full volume, and James would have remained dead to the world.

When he awoke in the morning, he lay there motionless for a moment without opening his eyes - he didn't want to fully wake only to discover that last night had all been a dream. But James had never dreamed anything so vividly before. He couldn't possibly have dreamed up the exact feel of John's mouth on his skin as he worked across his chest and down his torso. Or that his hands, which had such graceful talent for creating delicate melodies on ivory keys, could handle him without mercy, perfectly rough and greedy when they needed to be. He couldn't have dreamed the way that hearing his own name spoken in John's panting ecstasy would send a shiver down his spine. Or how John would laugh when his loose curls got in the way of their kisses as they lay tangled together in the after glow. How that laughter would only make him want to kiss John more. No, he could never have dreamed a single part of it. So he allowed himself to come fully awake, eager for the real world to prove better than dreams in a new day.

His eyes fluttered open. The room he was in was completely foreign. He hadn't spared a fraction of his attention for his surroundings the previous night - he'd been unable to see anything beyond the shape of John, everything else was a dizzying blur. Waking with his back turned to John, he first noticed the large windows, which were just beginning to become illuminated by the morning sun. A smallish chair was set next to one of the windows, angled so that one could look out over the street below. He looked then at the framed posters from various concerts John had attended that hung on the walls. They seemed to be mostly indie type bands - some James knew, some he didn't. There was also a small painting hanging on the nearest wall. James immediately recognized it as being one of Charlotte's - her distinct style was evident. It was simple and beautiful, the background featured her signature saturated colors - a blend of dark, rich blues and purples - in the foreground was a hand with a gently upturned palm that held a flame of pale blue and silver. His gut told him it was likely a gift made specially for John, he'd have to remember to ask sometime. He then moved on to study a shelf full of records. He could just make out some of the words on their spines and he smiled as he saw the familiar names of Beethoven and Bach and Chopin. He felt an immense fondness for the room. It was just so very _John_. He could clearly picture John sitting in that chair by the window on a rainy afternoon, watching the outside world as he listened to a symphony that played just for him.

As much as he enjoyed getting to know John better by studying his room, he was much more interested in the man that lived in it. So he slowly rolled over to find John’s still slumbering form resting serenely beside him. James felt a lightening of his heart at the mere sight of him. He settled on his side, leaving a little distance between them for the time being. The flat was completely still, and it seemed for a brief bubble of time the only sound in all of London was the soft breathing of the man sleeping next to him. As James watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he marveled at the train of events that had led to this moment. He had never set much stock in the concept of fate - but if there were any other explanation for how he found himself here in this room with this astounding new person in his life lying there in bed with him, it was beyond him.

John was laying on his back, his face turned ever so slightly away from James on the pillow. His elongated neck was still a little pink where James had given him special attention the night before. The memory of it struck him with a desire to reach out and touch John again - to pull him close and hold him. But this desire was at odds with his practicality which insisted he let John rest undisturbed for as long as he needed. He knew how much John valued his sleep, and the last thing James wanted was to start the day by annoying him into waking up. So he compromised. John's long hair was splayed out on the sheet between them, and James gingerly moved his hand to let one of those enticing curls wrap softly around his finger. He couldn't help but grin as he remembered that he had not been able to be quite so gentle with them the night before. After a few minutes passed quietly like this, James was pulled out of his near doze when John began to move. He turned his face toward James on his pillow, and James had a moment of hope that this was a sign of John's waking - but then John let out a faint snore. James bit his lip to stifle his chuckle. Well if he was going to insist on sleeping away the morning, then James was going to take opportunity to fully appreciate the sight before him.

He noticed first the absence of worry lines on John’s brow. By now he had come to recognize that the cool, confident, easy-going way that John carried himself wasn't always revealing the truth. Not to say that he wasn't all of these things, but so often James caught him frowning and fretting when he was off his guard. His thoughts were plagued by darkness just as James' sometimes were - only John seemed more adept at moving past it. It warmed him to the core to look at John now, when all of those troubled things that haunted him were far from his mind - as he slept, he was free from it all. His eyes traced their way lower, and James frowned as they landed on the ugly purple bruise that blemished John's lovely skin. He had assured James that he was fine, that it didn't bother him, but it didn't stop James from wishing he could take the pain away. It didn't sop him wishing he had been there so that he could have made the man who hurt him pay. He was self aware enough to realize that those kinds of feelings were what got him into trouble before, but deep down he was still the same man who had sent a broken Peter Ashe to the hospital. There was no amount of meditation that could dissuade him from his innate need to seek justice when people he cared for were harmed. James didn't like where looking at that injured jaw led his mind, so he allowed his eyes to drift steadily along John’s jawline to settle on his favorite feature. Those lips. They had treated him so well last night - soft, wet, and sure as they explored James' mouth and his body. Just the memory of it sent a fire through him from limb to limb. He itched to feel those lips on him skin again - it took a special kind of willpower to hold himself back from waking John right then in that moment.

Somehow it took all of this time before James even noticed that at sometime during the night John had found it necessary to put on clothes for sleeping in. He wore a plain white t-shirt - and as a quick peak under the covers revealed - a pair of dark grey sweatpants. While he had to admit that this simple ensemble actually suited him quite well, James resented their presence while he himself remained fully naked beneath the duvet. Of course, he knew that John was prone to getting cold very easily, but the irrational part of his brain was still strangely offended.

He was thankfully pulled out of this ridiculous train of thought as he caught the fluttering of John’s lashes out of the corner of his eye. He raised his gaze and smiled. Those eyes. They were the one feature he couldn’t admire while John had slept. He took the opportunity to properly memorize their exact shade of blue while he had the chance.

John smiled sleepily back at him for just a few breaths, then he closed his eyes again as he languidly positioned himself just a little closer to James. A few curls fell delicately over his face, and  James pushed them back with the tips of his fingers - John sighed in appreciation. Without opening his eyes, he leaned in to place one soft kiss on James’ shoulder. It was simply the nearest body part to where his head was resting, but James thought it was the most endearing thing he had ever done.

Overcome with fondness, James used his free arm to pull John in closer. He complied without complaint, and they soon lay touching down the full length of their bodies. John curled in naturally against him, his head resting just below James’ chin.  John's warm breath on his bare chest a stark contrast to his cold toes against his shin. As they lay there, James' resentment toward the presence of the clothes on John’s body was renewed - they were a barrier he was eager to overcome in due time. But for now he was content. More than content. If there was a word that fully expressed this feeling, he didn't know it. They lay in a shared stillness, a shared serenity.

Slowly, John’s hand began to move over James' chest, his fingers traced patterns attentively over the sensitive skin. James shivered - partly due to the sensation of John's cool fingers in contrast to his own flush, but also because of the implication that each line drawn conjured. James instinctively tightened his hold, his palm pressed firmly against John's lower back. Those gifted fingertips moved excruciatingly slow along his collarbone, to his shoulder, and his bicep, then they lingered a little at the tender crook of his elbow, and finally gripped firm on his forearm - securing James' embrace. James' breathing was already speeding up along with his heartbeat, as John began to place a trail of wet kisses starting on his chest and moving steadily upward along his neck.  John stopped his ministrations just short of James' lips, and he slowly pulled back to find James' eyes again. James was heavy-lidded with lust, but it was when he saw John's eyes crinkle in a smile that he knew he was a goner. He nodded - the smallest movement, but it held a thousand words. At long last, John took mercy on him and brought his lips to James' eager mouth. Their kisses were deep and unhurried and maybe just a little bit sloppy. James was washed over with a blind and hungry need - a need to be touching every inch of John's body, to memorize the shape of him. His hands tugged impatiently on John’s shirt, as his growing arousal was making it impossible to ignore his distaste for the clothing. John laughed softly against his lips. He pulled away with no small effort so that James could help him remove it and toss it unceremoniously on the floor.

With a more agreeable ratio of touching skin, they set to the practice of a new morning worship ritual.

——————

Last night had been all unhinged passion. It was the culmination of all of the tension they had let build finally coming to an inevitable eruption. Their hands had grabbed and gripped, scratched and pulled. They were all tongue and teeth and nails. It was what they had both needed. They needed to release their inhibitions and let instinct take over. It was imperfect and fumbling, but certainly no less satisfying for it. Neither one of them would have changed a single chaotic minute of it. 

This. This was something else entirely. It was reverence. A mutual veneration. It was the difference of the wild, mysterious night to the warm, clear morning.

Their kisses were slow, wet, and deliberate. Their fingers moved purposefully over each others skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. They were aware of every move they made, yet they were both still fresh enough in the waking world so as not to overthink it. They gave what they knew the other needed, and gratefully took what was offered. John reveled in the weight of James on top of him, and the exquisite feel of him as he pressed inside. He was nearly sent over the edge with every thrust. John's fingertips left beautiful imprints where he gripped firmly on James' hips as they moved and writhed. He couldn't maintain his composure when John arched his back and pulled James in just a little harder. Whenever they began to get too lost in the ecstasy of it all, they always found their way back to each other - their eyes would meet and they would kiss with a renewed fervor. All of this without a word spoken. Their bodies moved in perfect sync, their breath came in hitching gasps, and then - with long, drawn out, blissful sighs they collapsed in a panting heap.

They lay in a tangled mess of limbs and hair, silently stealing kisses as they came down from their high. John rested his head once more on James’ chest, and their breathing gradually began to return to a normal rhythm. John listened to the rapid thumping of James' heart, James felt John's pulse beating steadily beneath his fingers as he held his wrist lightly on top of his own abdomen. An unconscious reassurance that this was all real.

“Again?” James asked into the crown of John’s head. He felt more than heard as John’s body shook with a languid laughter.

“Hmmm. Maybe just coffee.”

———————

“I should be the one cooking for you, this is my flat after all,” John protested from where he perched on the edge of the kitchen counter.

“Oh no, I haven’t forgotten Muldoon’s warning. I don’t intend to be poisoned now - not when you and I are just getting started,” his mischievous grin as his eyes raked him over spread a warmth through John’s body.

“Please, even I’m not going to fuck up eggs,” but there was no real resolve behind his argument. In truth he was rather enjoying the view of James at work in his kitchen. He was wearing John’s white t-shirt which was just a little too tight and his sweatpants which sat just a little too low on his hips. Every time he raised his arms to reach into a cabinet John was rewarded with a generous view of his midriff.

James caught him admiring one of these moments and snorted his amusement. He sauntered over toward John, the very picture of seduction - leaned in close as he placed his hands on the counter top beside his hips. John readied himself for the kiss with a lick of his lips - but it didn’t come. Instead James pulled back away, holding the salt and pepper shakers that had been sitting behind him on the counter. In mock annoyance, James said, “You know you’re really getting in the way. I’m trying to cook here.”

“My apologies, chef,” John said with his hands raised in surrender, “Let me leave you to it.”

He slid off of the counter, and strolled out of the kitchen - making sure to sneak a quick kiss on James’ cheek as he passed by him. Once out of James’ work space, he moved automatically toward the piano standing there against the far wall. Even now, he could hardly believe that it was really there in his flat - that he would have this instrument at his disposal whenever he needed it. He ran his hand along the wooden surface, enjoying the feel of the grain beneath his fingers. He looked back over his shoulder, James was working at the stove, but he glanced up when he felt John's gaze on him. James smiled crookedly at him, and John absolutely melted. God, he was fucked.

It wasn't because he had given John this unbelievable gift - he was still actually a little angry about that to be honest. It wasn't because he didn't so much as blink when he first saw John's leg, as John had feared - he had held his breath when he'd removed his prosthetic, fully expecting to see a change in the way James looked at him, but the hunger in his eyes remained and he kissed John just a little harder then. It wasn't because John was the lucky exception to James' general social ineptitude, the only one he openly showed actual kindness to - in fact he hoped that in time James would be more open to show other people the gentler side of him, which so far he kept hidden away. And it wasn't because James was, to put it simply, a spectacular fuck - though it certainly didn't hurt. No. It was because James had awoken something in him. His whole life he had lived on the outskirts of his own relationships - with co-workers, friends and lovers. He never really let any of them know him - well there was the possible exception of Muldoon, but that was something different - that was family. When he met James he had instantly wanted to know more about him, which was important in itself. But the truly incredible thing was that he wanted James to know him too. He found someone who he actually wanted to be himself with. No more masks. James made him feel free. That was why he was fucked.

He sat down on the piano chair, and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it all. He really couldn't believe how much he owed to this old chair. Who knew where they would be if he hadn't forced James into helping him with it?

There were a hundred songs that he could have played at that moment, but one stood out in his mind as being especially appropriate. John had been left alone at Charlotte and Idelle's flat on Saturday evening. He'd taken the opportunity to spend a few hours playing the keyboard, not knowing when he'd next get the opportunity. During that time, when he had James heavy on his mind, he had blissfully taught himself a song that reminded him of James. He began to play it as the smell of breakfast and coffee grew stronger in the air around him. He knew when James finally recognized the melody by his deep rumbling laugh, which was followed by a fond, “You little shit.”

John continued playing what he unabashedly believed to be a fucking beautiful version of the INXS classic “Never Tear Us Apart” until James eventually interrupted, “Your breakfast is ready, Mr. Hutchence.”

\---

He was a little bit annoyed by how good the food was. No, fuck that, he was absolutely furious that it was so ridiculously good. How did James manage to make something as simple as eggs and potatoes taste like it could be served at a five star restaurant? Unbelievable.

“Please tell me there’s something that you’re _not_ good at,” John whined as he took in another delicious mouthful.

James chuckled, “Well let’s see - for one I’m shit at playing the piano.”

John shook his head, “But you’re a legend on the guitar, so that pretty much evens out.”

“If you say so,” he sipped his coffee, and John lifted his eyebrows signaling that James should continue. James smiled indulgently, then said, “As you know, I can’t speak Spanish - but I don't  really speak any other languages either. I took Latin in school, and it hasn’t really come up much since.”

“Yes, and you better never learn Spanish. I need to have some way to flatter you without you knowing I’m doing it,” John said earnestly. James grinned and didn't argue the point. When he went back to eating as if the subject was dropped, John gave his leg a light kick under the table, saying, “I feel like you're not taking this seriously. Keep going, hermoso.”

James rolled his eyes as he set down his fork, took a breath and began reciting a very minor list of faults, “I’ve got a terrible temper, I'm bad with people - like really bad, I'm sure you've noticed. I hold on to grudges for far too long. What else? I’m a terrible artist - we're talking stick figures that don't resemble anything you've ever seen. Oh, and I can’t whistle. In fact I think the only things I have any talent for are music, carpentry, and cooking.”

“Oh no, I can think of something else that you are very, very good at,” John said, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“Yeah, well you’re not so bad yourself,” James responded with a wink. John laughed. It had been a risk to send a wink in that very first text, but it had certainly paid off in the end. “And what about you?" James asked, turning the table. "I've never heard anyone play piano as brilliantly as you do, you made my songs exponentially better. You’re genuinely the easiest person to talk to that I’ve ever met, your friends would do absolutely anything for you. Honestly, you make everything look easy - you're always so confident. I 'm beginning to think that _you_ don't have any faults at all.”

John listened to this stream of compliments with what he thought was a healthy skepticism. He leveled James with a pitying look. “Well first of all, you’ve been duped." he said with a hint of the dramatics. "I am not actually all that confident. It’s just a hell of a lot of show and even more overcompensation. I'm actually probably the biggest mess there is. Though I guess that’s to be expected from an orphan without a leg.” He saw James begin to open his mouth to argue this statement, so he quickly cut him off, “I just don’t want people to think about me that way. I don't want to see their pity, and yes, even their disgust. No matter how much I tell myself that I don’t care what people think about it, I still catch myself subconsciously trying to distract them from it. I charm them with my wit and tenacity. I did it to you! You never had any idea, because I kept your attention drawn on this ugly mug instead,” he gestured vaguely at his own face.

“Ugly mug?” James actually looked offended.

“See? That’s another one of my faults! I’m needlessly self-deprecating.”

“John.”  

“And I can’t cook!”

“John.”

“And I can’t even finish writing one goddamn song!”

“John!”

“What?”

James took a deep exasperated breath, and he said kindly, “You’re being far too hard on yourself.”

“Yes, another fault, thank you for pointing it out,” but he was already calming down from his tirade.

“That’s not what I meant," James was genuinely concerned about the way that John was talking, and he felt a little bad for pushing it so far.

John did actually feel those things deep down, but simply by saying it all out loud he could already feel those fears and insecurities begin to dissipate. It was like a weight had lifted off his chest, but he didn't actually want to burden James with any of it. He smiled as he squeezed James' hand and simply said, “I know." Then he took another generous, infuriatingly good mouthful of his breakfast. James looked slightly pacified, but not all that happy. John swallowed, and cheerily said, “Besides, I lied. I did finish a song this weekend.”

“You did?” James brightened immediately.

“Yes, that’s why I got home so late on Saturday. I was just hanging out alone at Charlotte’s and I got lost in playing on her keyboard - and then I accidentally wrote a song.”

“Accidentally?”

“Yeah I mean, I was just fucking around, and the next thing I knew I was writing out notes and lyrics and thinking about chord progression, and suddenly - a fucking song. It’s probably not any good. But I finished it.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Uhhh - Christ, I don't know. I mean, it’s just really fucking sappy? I’d had a really weird day, so it's - a lot.”

James’ eyes flicked briefly to the bruise on John’s jaw, but he refrained from commenting on it, instead saying, “I’m not here to judge, I’d just like to listen.” John wrinkled his nose, contemplating how devastatingly embarrassing it would be to let James hear what he had written. Why had he even brought it up? James reached out and grabbed John's hand. "Hey, if you're not ready, that's okay. Some other time maybe." John met his eyes, saw the easy warmth that emanated from them, and thought, _fuck it_.

“Fine,” he took a large sip of his coffee, half wishing it were hard liquor in the mug instead. Then he pushed away from the table a little dramatically, and he returned to the piano. _His_ piano. James followed not far behind, bringing his coffee with him. He leaned his elbow casually on the top of the instrument, watching John with a smile in his eyes all the while. John centered himself and let his fingers play just a couple of chords, testing the waters so to speak, then stopped abruptly. “Fucking hell, I don’t know how you do this - play your songs for anyone who will listen. You make it look so easy. I’m fucking nervous and it’s only you here.”

James leaned down, without a word, and kissed him. Deep. John was taken by surprise, but he leaned into it gladly. All too soon James pulled back, leaving just their forehead touching. He held John's chin, gently stroking the scruff there with his thumb.

“Okay, you convinced me,” John breathed.

———

He let out a breath of a laugh and placed one more kiss on John's temple. Realizing that he was at least a part of the source of John's nerves - a feeling James was not thrilled about but didn't know quite how to address - he took his coffee and retreated to the couch he had listened from the night before, hoping a little space might set John at ease. In truth, the couch was at the perfect angle so that he could make out both John's hands as they worked, as well as the way the music played on his features. When he played the classic compositions of Chopin and Rachmaninoff the lines on John's face softened and he became free. But now he looked as he had the only other time John had played him something he had written himself. His brow was furrowed and he bit his lip as his gears turned. He had pulled his hair up away from his face into a sloppy mop of curls on the crown of his head, and James appreciated how he could now fully appreciate the graceful length of his neck.

James hoped that a kiss was enough to assure John that he needn't be nervous - he didn’t know quite how to express the high regard he felt for John’s musicianship in words. But at last, John took a deep breath, and his furrowed brow softened. And then there was music. He started slow and simple, but the melody soon turned into something truly beautiful. Then he began to sing, and James lost all ability to listen objectively.

   
_Be my late night partner_  
_Oh, pull me from the crowd_  
_With all of your old records_  
_We'll drink 'til we pass out_  
_Where are the moments that I feel so alive?_  
_I've lost everyone I need_  
_But music slays my heart and soul_  
_Every hour, day, and week_

   
_I'm on the edge of something beautiful_  
_I'm on the edge of something beautiful_

 

 At this point John risked a quick glance over at James. He only held his gaze for the briefest second before turning back to the piano, but it made James' breath catch in his throat. He hadn't moved since John began to sing - his elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward - the coffee mug held loosely between his hands long forgotten. John continued singing his chorus, James noted the slightest upturn of his lips. 

   
_Sing with me 'til the end of time_  
_I love the way you read my mind_  
_Laughter makes you live so much longer_  
_Don't know if the pain makes you stronger_  
_Give me something that burns inside_  
_To make me shiver, to shut my eyes_  
_Late night partner don't bother sleeping_  
_Tell me all the secrets you're keeping_

The way John's fingers danced across the keys, the way the notes from the piano perfectly complimented the cadence of his voice, the way those words got right under his skin - James was mesmerized. He felt like he witnessing something deeply personal, and he was gratified that John let him be there for it. 

   
_I'm yearning for the good times_  
_So why don't you get up_  
_Do you feel like a teenage runaway_  
_Whose eyes are never shut?_  
_Where are the moments that I feel so alive?_  
_I've lost everyone I need_  
_But music keeps on saving me_  
_Every hour, day, and week_

  
_I'm on the edge of something beautiful_  
_I'm on the edge of something beautiful_

  
_Sing with me 'til the end of time_  
_I love the way you read my mind_  
_Laughter makes you feel so much longer_  
_Don't know if this pain makes you stronger_  
_Give me something that burns inside_  
_To make me shiver, to shut my eyes_  
_Late night partner, don't bother sleeping_  
_Tell you all the secrets I'm keeping_

_Late night partner, Late night partner  
_

The piano played out softly with John's voice, and with a final note from the major key, John's song ended. The room became cruelly silent. John waited a breath before turning to look at James, an unspoken question in his eyes.

“Come here,” was all James could say.

A relieved smile formed on John's face, but it evolved into a cheeky grin as he rose to move slowly in James' direction. He stopped inches away from where James sat, an eyebrow raised, as if to say, “I’m here, what are you gonna do about it?”

James blindly placed his mug on the side table with one hand - it clattered noisily and the lukewarm liquid splashed over the edge - he used his other hand to reach out for one of John's and gently pulled him down. John lowered himself over James, his knees securely positioned on either side of James' hips as he straddled his lap. He rested his forehead against James', his lips just out of reach of a kiss, and he said, "So you liked it?"

James' hands traveled the length of John’s arms - over the absurdly thick fabric of his jumper - to grip behind his neck. He pulled John's mouth the final distance to meet his own, encountering no resistance. He tried to put his full answer to John's question into that kiss, but pulled away just long enough to say, "Fucking beautiful," in case he was being in any way unclear. John was becoming downright giddy, he smiled into each kiss, he was enthusiastic about the endeavor, and James was having trouble catching his breath. He was overcome with a need to be touching John - to be actively giving back as much as John was giving him. His hands traveled down John’s back, and he was once again annoyed by John’s tendency to overdress. He didn’t hold much faith in his own ability to properly stimulate John’s skin through three layers of clothing. He actually laughed in his frustration.

“What is it?” John asked, smiling as he moved on to kissing James’ neck.

“I was just thinking that I can’t wait to do this in the summer time,” he said as his hands fumbled for a way beneath the layers.

John let his forehead fall on James’ shoulder as he struggled through his own bought of giggles.

The sound of a phone ringing distantly registered in James’ mind as John recovered enough to resume his kisses with a renewed energy. The feel of John’s finger’s playing in his hair kept his brain just hazy enough that he never even considered answering. When it began to ring again after another minute or so, John pulled himself away with a huff.

“Well it’s not my phone, seeing as I haven't got one. You wanna answer that?”

“No,” James said, but John picked it up off of the table and handed it to him without looking at it. James took it from him with a frown and looked at the screen in irritation, “It’s Hal.”

“Well, don’t leave him waiting,” John said, but followed it up with a nibble on his earlobe leading James to believe he might not have entirely meant it.

He considered briefly shutting the damned thing off completely, but Hal wouldn't have called twice unless it was important, so he reluctantly answered, “Yes?”

“Hello to you, too,” Hal replied, as John gave another, slightly rougher, tug at James’ earlobe with his teeth.

James somehow managed to hold back on an audible response to this act, and favored Hal with an indulgent “Hello,” as he silently threatened reciprocation for John - which he dodged, muffling his laughter in the sleeve of his jumper.

There was a pause on the other line, then Hal asked, “You alright?”

“Yes. Was there something you wanted, Hal?” John was now placing distracting kisses wherever he could find skin to accept them.

“Well - I’ve just received a phone call on the shop’s line from a Mr. Muldoon in search of a Mr. Silver,” James silently struggled to make John keep still, suddenly much more interested in what Hal had to say. John reluctantly stopped his ministrations with a petulant sigh. He plopped gracelessly to one side and swung his legs over James' lap, settling into a more comfortable position with his face nuzzled against James' chest. James smiled down at him in thinly veiled adoration. 

All the while, Hal continued as if James wasn’t distracted beyond help, “I said to the man, there is no Mr. Silver here, I believe you’ve called the wrong number. However, this Mr. Muldoon insisted. He asked isn’t this the place where James works? He’d be happy to talk to James, he said. I told him - why yes it is, but he’s not here presently either. Mr. Muldoon said he hoped to find his friend Silver in the company of the James that works in this shop, as this Silver had broken his phone and was unreachable. He’s left a number for you to call him back, if you would. Now James, the question I have here is, exactly how many friends do you have that I don’t know about? And while we're at it, I do hope this 'Mr. Silver' you’re running around with is our John.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still number one, Hal. And yes, of course it is _our John_. Can you just text me that number?”

He struggled for a minute to get Hal to stop asking questions, and finally spoke over him with a loud, "Talk to you later Hal!" and he hung up.

“Did he say Muldoon called?” John was absently tracing the lines of James' tattoo with his index finger. 

“Yeah I think so, but I was a little distracted by somebody trying to bite my ear off,” he replied sardonically. John simply smiled innocently back at him.

“Hmm, I did mention to Muldoon where you worked. I’m surprised he remembered that. Then again, he wasn’t nearly as drunk as I was.”

“Eventually, you’re going to tell me about your Friday night.”

“Eventually. And maybe you’ll tell me about yours?”

“Eventually.”

“Right then,” he took James’ phone from his hand, “Let’s call Muldoon - see what he so desperately needs to tell me.”

  
————

As it turned out, Muldoon was perhaps overly eager to relay the news that the final mix of James’ recording was complete, and that Dobbs had some hard copies ready whenever they could make it out to pick them up. He had listened to the final product himself and couldn’t say enough how fantastic he thought it was. He was also very inquisitive about what was going on with John and James. “Ya know, I tried Joshua first and he said I would probably have better luck if I could get hold of that, and I quote, tall handsome ginger bloke - so did you two -?” but John took a page from James' book and cut him off mid-sentence with a, “Thanks, talk to you later, mate!” before quickly hanging up.

This was how James and John found themselves in the car on their way to the recording studio in Wandsworth in the early afternoon that Monday. James had argued that they should go out to replace John's phone first, but John was insistent that he was too excited to wait another minute. He said that all he wanted was to listen to those songs with James - anyone else who wanted to talk to him could bloody well wait. With that little bit of flattery and a couple of persuasive kisses, James had given in.

It felt natural to have John sitting in that seat beside him in his old car. They talked a bit about the record, and about music in general. John got carried away with thinking up some rather ridiculous ideas for album titles, before they fell into a comfortable silence. They turned the radio on as it played a string of so called classics. James took every opportunity he could to steal a glance at John as he looked out his window - humming along, or simply lost in thought.

“So,” John began without prompting, as he abruptly switched the radio off mid-song, “I hadn’t heard from you in three days - which was of course my idea - that you take your time - but honestly, it was starting to get to my head. Muldoon told me that I was sulking around too much and he convinced me to go out with him and some friends to get out of my own mind. So. After an appropriate amount of pining, I made the conscious and idiotic decision to get absolutely shit-faced. The rest of the night occurs in my memory as bullet points of relevance, everything else has receded in a blur of inconsequence. First, I remember arguing with Logan - who was also tremendously shit-faced - about the meaning of love, of all things. I'm told that we were embarrassingly loud and we drew ourselves quite a lot of attention. The reason this rather embarrassing confession is relevant is that we managed to piss off one particular nearby brute who will re-enter the story later. But anyway, drunk as we were, I’m sure that there was nothing meaningful said on either of our parts. This does lead us somewhat to point two - I remember that I called you against my own better judgement, also against the better judgement of Muldoon who tried his best to talk me out of it. I do not remember exactly what I said in that message, and I sincerely hope that you never tell me. Third - I remember that a man was hassling Charlotte, and as you might have guessed, it was the very same brute from earlier that evening. This man was definitely not a romantic, and he said some disturbingly vulgar things to her. And as Muldoon would be happy to tell you, I can be a real smart mouthed fuck when I put my mind to it. So while coming to Charlotte's rescue - which I’m sure she didn’t need because she is more than capable of taking care of herself - I managed to address her harasser with an array of colorful insults to which he naturally responded with a rather large fist. I'm a little ashamed to say, I went down after just one punch - my phone went flying across the room and was promptly smashed under somebody’s boot. And the next thing I know, I’m waking up in Idelle’s bed with a pounding headache and only a vague memory of being all but carried there. To be clear, I’m not someone who ever drinks to the point of blacking out - or anything close to it. I have a compulsive need to maintain a certain amount of control over my faculties - so I can assure you that this night was not a typical one. But in the spirit of full disclosure - that is the story of how I received this hideous bruise. To the best of my memory, anyway. End of story.”

James let the story wash over him, a small grin breaking through the mask of his intent-listener-face. He didn't know which part of this account beguiled him the most, but there was certainly something that stood out.

“So. Arguments about the meaning of love led you to calling me in the middle of the night?”

“That's what you got out of all of that?” John asked, incredulously. James raised an amused eyebrow as he glanced in his direction. "No comment," John said firmly.

“Okay,” James chuckled.

John shook his head in exasperation, looked like he was going to say something else, but instead he switched the radio back on, and he flopped back into his seat. They passed another moment in silence. James considered whether or not he was ready to let John in on what he'd been through this past weekend. He felt better knowing what John had been through, and he wanted to take the mystery away for him in turn. While he was wallowing in indecision, a song he'd always loved began to play.

 _Where are you going, I don't mind_  
_I've killed my world and I've killed my time_  
_So where do I go what do I see_  
_I see many people coming after me_

There was something about hearing this song at that exact moment that assured him he could tell John anything. He knew that John would understand what talking to Miranda and Thomas had meant to him. He glanced over to find him looking out the window once more, humming along softly to himself.

“I saw Miranda on Friday night,” James began. He felt John's attention shift to him immediately. James continued, keeping his eyes on the road, “I went there expecting the worst. But after only a couple of minutes I was reminded of why we had always worked so well together - efore everything that happened. We talked through some things - things that needed to be resolved. We came to some sort of understanding about where we stood. I mean - I know we're in a good place, but to be honest, I'm still not sure of much beyond that. We went to dinner, we caught up on each others lives, and we talked for hours. It was - nice.”

 _So where are you going to, I don't mind_  
_If I live too long I'm afraid I'll die_  
_So I will follow you wherever you go_  
_If your offered hand is still open to me_

He paused for a moment, trying to find the words to talk about Thomas. John was silent as he waited for James to continue.

“On Saturday I talked to Thomas - it was a video chat. I didn't expect to see him, and I struggled to come to terms with it. But Thomas is an intuitive man. He recognized that struggle, and he assuaged my fears. He assured me that he was doing well - that I needn’t worry about him and that there was no need to feel any guilt for my part in what happened. After a while we were able to talk quite easily. But he - he saw through my evasions. You see, I didn’t want to mention you. I guess it didn’t feel right telling him I was moving on. But he knew. They both knew. Thomas told me he hoped it was true - that no man should be alone. The way things ended between us - it’s been twisting ugly knots inside me for years. Now - I finally feel - untangled.”

 _Strangers on this road we are on_  
_We are not two, we are one_

He could feel John's smile, even though he couldn't see it.

“Of course in the midst of all of this soul searching, I receive a drunken midnight voicemail from you, playing games with my peace of mind. And no answers when I try to call back, leading me to believe you’re dead in a ditch - or worse - ignoring me.”

John laughed.

 _'Till peace we find, tell you what I'll do_  
_All the things I own I will share with you_  
_If I feel tomorrow like I feel today_  
_We'll take what we want and give the rest away_

“I’m glad you’ve worked things out with them,” John said as he reached for James' hand where it rested on the gearshift. He quietly played with James' fingers for a moment, then he stilled and asked, “You’ll keep in touch now, I suppose?”

“From time to time.”

“I hope I’ll meet them some day.”

“Maybe some day.”

 _Strangers on this road we are on_  
_We are not two, we are one_

—————

“I can’t believe I’m in the presence of a future rock star.”

"Hmm?"

It was late that night, they had spent a few hours at Dobbs’ studio listening to the finished tracks and discussing next steps. In the midst of all of the business talk, there were constant stolen glances and secret touches shared between them. In truth, John had openly tried to attack James in his excitement after listening to a song he particularly loved - but James had never been all that comfortable with public displays of affection, so he awkwardly dodged the kiss, much to John's disappointment.

Now, in the relative privacy of James’ shop, they were having trouble keeping their hands off of each other. James was doing his very best to make up for denying John even a single kiss.They were barely a step through the door of the unlit shop before James grabbed John firmly around the waist and lifted him up onto an antique desk. He really shouldn't be mistreating the furniture that he was meant to be repairing, but he was beyond caring when all he wanted was to devour every inch of the man in front of him.

“Do you think we could convince Hal to take  - a long walk? Or - fuck - or find him a hobby - someplace else - far away?” John asked between gasps. His eyes kept darting to the door that led to the flat, clearly expecting Hal to walk through it any minute and find them in a compromising position. James’ mouth was too occupied to respond, but he hummed his amusement against John’s skin, causing him to gasp all over again.

James watched, enthralled, as John fell back panting on the desk’s solid surface. Then he traveled up the length of John’s body, and braced himself on his elbows above him. He drank in the sight of John's flush and the sound of his labored breathing, John looked right back at him, his eyes clear and bright. He looked positively transcendent. John gripped the back of his neck, and James gladly let him bring him in for one more kiss. Then, reluctantly he pulled himself away, thinking that John hadn't actually been wrong to worry - Hal did have a habit of appearing unannounced when James least expected, and he'd just as soon avoid having to explain what exactly he'd been doing on top of a client's property.

John sat up with a groan. Or rather, he allowed James to pull him upright with only a little resistance. James grinned at the sight of his tousled hair and swollen lips, “You know, I don’t know why you feel the need to talk so much when I’m putting so much effort into rendering you speechless.”

“Sorry, hermoso," John laughed. "But I did appreciate all your hard work."

"My pleasure," he couldn't resist kissing him again. He then tried in vain to fix the madness that was John's hair. “Come on," he teased. "Let’s get you cleaned up. You’ve got to be at least somewhat presentable when Hal sees you.”

“Clean _me_ up? You look like you just ran a marathon,” John's fingers brushed a loose ginger strand behind James' ear. It was the kind of thing that James had often done for John, but he was pretty certain that it was the first time John had touched him in that exact way. The tenderness behind the action caught him off guard, and he forgot whatever retort he'd had in mind.

They made an event of straightening themselves up, in no great hurry to leave their bubble - the space where it was truly just the two of them. When he was satisfied that they were leaving behind no evidence of what had just transpired, James raised his eyebrows, and said, "Shall we?" 

John reached for James' hand as he started to move toward the door to the staircase. He was on the verge of giddiness as he said, “I can’t wait to see Hal's face when he listens to your record. I think he’s going to love it.”

James stopped with one hand on the knob. He turned to look at John, this absolute enigma whom he was falling for far too quickly. "You know this record is just as much yours as it is mine?"

John's grip tightened as he smiled brightly up at him. He kissed him once, softly, then he rested his forehead against James' and he whispered, "You and I are going places."

"Yes. We fucking are."

 ------------

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How fun is the honeymoon bubble, though???? :) 
> 
> John plays:  
> [Never Tear Us Apart by INXS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uhMKoivrKy0)  
> (But you guys listen to [this magnificent piano only version](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KItq-mSbYp4) that I found on youtube - this is what he played y'all). 
> 
> John sings:  
> [Late Night Partner by Ed Harcourt](https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=the+kings+strangers)  
> (Reading these lyrics is way cheesier than listening to them, but it just fits so perfectly so I HAD to use this song. Anyway, I guess that's why John did a disclaimer before he played it, lol). 
> 
> The song playing in the car:  
> [ Strangers by The Kinks](https://youtu.be/MR52MIJuZJY)  
> (So I didn't even know that Lucius [the band they saw in concert together, in case you forgot] did [an AMAZING cover](https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=the+kings+strangers) of this song until I went to get the link for the original and saw it there on youtube. That was very serendipitous. Highly recommend). 
> 
> This is a [Master Post](https://playmoss.com/en/allmyluckyfriends/playlist/take-this-sinking-boat) of all songs that were linked throughout the entire fic, in case you want to revisit any of them :)
> 
> ***
> 
> WOW, I kind of can't believe I actually finished this thing. Thank you to those of you who gave me encouragement along the way, I honestly owe it all to you <3 Really hope the final chapter didn't disappoint! 
> 
> So this fic will most likely be a one hit wonder, BUT I also feel like it might maybe possibly be fun to try a one-off follow up. Like an established relationship story of some sort within this AU?? Maybe??? However, I really don't know if people would genuinely be interested, and I don't know if it will ever actually happen, so no promises at all, lol. Like I feel like there's closure here so maybe its not necessary. But idk - if enough people do seem to want more, I'd definitely seriously consider it. (Also, feel free to tell me what you'd want to see if I do it. Is there anything you were hoping for out of this story that you didn't get to see? I'm all ears).
> 
> Anyway, I've totally been depriving myself of reading other fics while this was in progress - so now I get to catch up on what I missed! Thanks again for reading! ;)


End file.
